


On The Infinite Mile

by docboredom



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - NO CORONA, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Established Relationship, Feel-good, Fluff and Angst, I really wish you could move tags around, Minor Violence, Multi, Nonbinary Character, POV Multiple, Parallel Universes, Recreational Drug Use, Summer, Swearing, WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL AND I DECIDED TO WRITE IT OKAY, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, also yes I got summer's permission to put her into this you're all welcome, lots and lots of lore, mentions of Lazerhorse, mentions of ninja sex party, mentions of prior TWRP members, no more serious tags we shitpost like real men, tag wranglers if you're reading this do I have a GREAT IDEA FOR YOU!, wacky whoo hoo summer adventure clusterfuck the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docboredom/pseuds/docboredom
Summary: TWRP and Planet Booty forever, right? In a much better version of 2020, the tour of a lifetime is set to begin. And this time our four favorite aliens are bringing along Rich Aucoin- known space cowboy, vigilante, and very good friend!It’s all fun and games and good tunes until a crazy incident in Nevada causes the gang to come up short. Short one person, that is. Now they need to find a way to juggle saving their friend, doing some soul searching, still having a damn good time, and finish a tour all in one go.But they’re the Groove Crusaders, and anything’s possible, after all.
Relationships: Commander Meouch/Yevon Lis-Zutar, Doctor Sung/Lord Phobos (TWRP), OC/OC
Kudos: 2
Collections: TWRP Big Bang 2020





	1. I'm Pickin' Up Good Vibrations

**Author's Note:**

> this fic goes out to all the sad bitches who couldn't see Rich/Booty/TWRP this year (it's all of us we're all the sad bitches)
> 
> stay safe, stay smart, and we'll see each other next year front row doing the hustle for SURE y'all
> 
> (for point of reference * indicated new povs and - indicate time jumps within the same pov, HAVE FUN!!!)

The Phantasm wanted nothing more than to go _home_.

They had been at this for too long now. Moons upon moons. Every second of every day dedicated to the following of impossible rumors and half formed clues. All because of a man. All of this for a man with infinite prisms in his eyes and the uncanny ability to dance his way between worlds.

This was all made much worse by the fact that he wasn’t even that good. No. He was just _constantly_ on the move.

Plenty of others did the whole ‘world hopping’ thing too. The only difference being that the majority of them did it _after_ signing off on the innumerable clauses and agreements the Intergalactic Federation had in place so as to not (as indicated on their form) disrupt the flow of the cosmos. There were _rules_ to be followed when it came to these kinds of things, expectations and such, but this son of a bitch…? He was a rule breaker. He did whatever the fuck.

For now, the Phantasm reminded xirself as xir rage threatened to swallow xir whole, until xir and the idiot xe had been paired with finally nailed that bastard down. 

Hence why they were _here_ , on a thing that was more of an endless mountain range than an actual planet, the last place _he_ had been, the air thin and terrible and tearing all around them. On those same winds, xe could hear the things that lived here, too small to see and too innumerable to count. But loud. So loud you couldn’t even _pretend_ to ignore them. _Intruders_ , the Phantasm could make out as the Thuellai seethed in their native tongue, _not of the sun, not of the sky. No one. No one._

“Bite me.” The Phantasm spat right back into their ceaseless caterwaul. 

“Oh dear.”

And there it was. The _thing_ that made xir teeth go on edge. The partner xe had never asked for- not even a _little_ winded by the effort of the climb. “You seem angry.” He proceeded to comment in an almost lackadaisical tone, his fingers at his tie, straightening it out.

“...That’s because I _am_ angry, Yevgeny.”

Angry enough to topple empires, the Phantasm had to reckon, to ruin countless possibilities and spit on the graves of gods. Perfect Yevgeny, on the other hand, seemed to be having a lovely time despite the circumstances. “Oh no! Anything but that!” He was gasping with an awful simper. “I simply refuse.”

“Don’t _start_ Yevgeny...” Xe gave as a warning. 

But of course he didn’t heed xir words. “Is someone feeling a little glass half empty today? Not even half full? What if I topped you off? Gave you something to drink to?” He had a death wish, it seemed, as he crowded into xir. His breath smelled like carrion, like easy rot and death, and his eyes were terrifyingly unreadable. “I know we’ve always come up empty handed in the past,” He started exclaiming over the endless screaming. “But we can’t let that get to us now.”

He was saying something then about how he didn’t want to jinx it. About how this time was _different_. About having good feelings and hunches and inklings in his head. On and on it went until xe cut xir voice over his, tired of his platitudes. “Like last time,” Xe mused. “And the time before that...”

Yevgeny almost looked offended when xe looked back and said that. _Almost_. “Oh, c’mon _compadre_ , I’m being seriously serious right now." He clutched at his heart. "How can I prove that to you?”

“You? Serious?” The tiny alien gave him xir tightest smirk. Now _that_ was funny. Yevgeny didn’t _do_ serious. Not with that smile of his and especially not with his silvered tongue. Even now the Vulpini’s ceaseless grin didn’t so much as waver as he began pacing the narrow precipice, although if the Phantasm was being honest with xirself, it was more so a sliver of a scythe- a knife catching in the sun. 

“He met people here.” He announced unexpectedly.

All around them the Thuellai continued to roar. “Here?” The Phantasm chuckled darkly, recognizing it was xir turn. _This_ was a waypoint. A stepping stone between worlds. Xe jabbed all three of xir fingers against the other alien’s sternum then, realizing he _was_ being serious, meeting all six and half feet of him with all four and a quarter of xir own. “For what, Yevgeny, a picnic?” Xe snarl-sniped. “A night on the town?”

Gods, if he had been anybody else that would have been enough. To get him to back off and shut his mouth and even request a partner change. But he was Yevgeny Khitryy, russet faced and bushy tailed. The kind of alien that was never so much as slightly bothered, they said, or ever perturbed. “Temper, temper, Phanny.” He murmured after a moment. “There’s no need to speak to me that way.”

Xe spun on him and touched the jewel in xir head. "I told you not to call me that." The Phantasm said in a dark voice. "So do _not_ do it again."

An investigation, The Phantasm tried to remind xirself as xir fingers began to curl eagerly upon the jewel. You would never be able to get away with it. You would never be able to go back home... “Do you actually have something _important_ to say, fox?” Xe finally managed as xe bared xir sharp little teeth. “Or are you simply being cryptic for fun?”

Yevgeny shrugged. “Can’t it be both?” No, you didn’t get to _have_ both, the Phantasm wanted to scream, not when you worked for the Federation, not when there was a fugitive to catch shit to be done. That was the thing about Yevgeny though. He didn’t care about any of that and he never _would_. That’s what happened when you were an egotistical hedonist. 

That’s what happened when you were an asshole.

“Back to my original point though. The good news.” He smiled and it was an actual nightmare. “Have you been listening at all?”

“Can we _please_ do this without playing twenty _fucking_ rhetorical questions?”

“It’s important though! Listening to your gut, your heart, and dare I even say... the universe. Gods, what do the Avis call it?" He rubbed at his chin. "The air song? Wind song? Whatever the hell is is."

The Phantasm couldn’t stop staring. This... prick. This absolute sacrilegious dramatic bastard _fuck_ of an alien _._ To speak so flippantly about the songs of the universe, the ones that carried all the echoes and stories, the truths you couldn't even dream of... “You smelled him the moment we got here, didn’t you?” Xe bit out after everything, unable to stomach another second of him swirling his paws through the living aether of inscrutable bodies flying through the air.

He stopped and started pouting at xir when xe said that. Not because he felt guilty, the Phantasm knew, but because xe hadn't humored his terrible joke. There was still something in his face though. Something _more_ than the usual fox cunning he had been born with. “Spit it out Yevgeny.” Xe said in a low and terrible voice. “If you know something and you’re playing games, I’ll report you to the higher ups.” Obstruction of justice. Spoliation of evidence. Whatever the fuck.

“So you _weren’t_ listening. I told you it wasn’t only our suspect.” Yevgeny’s fangs flashed as he tipped his comm at xir. Xe _knew_ that image. Every Federation agent who had gone through basic training did. Four bodies, one cone, countless crimes and felonies and other bullshit.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me.” The Phantasm whispered, finding xirself caught between pure horror and absolute elation at what this meant.

“Told you I had good news.”

He hadn’t met up with just anybody.

The bastard had met up with TWRP.

*

... _Toothbrush?_ _  
_

“Check!”

 _Toothbrush_ charger _?_

“You bet.”

_Extra strength antiperspirant?_

“...Ugh. Yes…”

_Hip bag? Pylon? Shoes?_

“Check, check, and… oh, you _gotta_ be kidding me.”

_Typical..._

“Not check."

It was an all too familiar scene for the both of them. A production they both knew. The kind that had the world-weary Havve Hogan taking up the furthest corner he could find while the ever-energetic Doctor Sung was left with the rest of the room. The setting? One of pure chaos and pandemonium. A wasteland of button ups and t-shirts. Endless socks and windbreakers. Jockstrap and- 

Oh gods, anything but _that_.

“You don’t-!” Sung began to stammer-panic-shrill as he snatched it away from Havve’s line of vision, core blazing hot with embarrassment. “Need to stay and watch me pack, asshole.” _Like I’m a child_. He added across the span of their link huffily, not eager to tempt the god of voice cracks.

Havve, however, was indifferent, as he always was. Up went one finger, then the next, and then another after that- steepling together into a picture perfect pyramid before he went and undid them again. _See, you say things like that, then proceed to_ unironically _wear light up shoes..._

“That was _so_ not the point I was getting at.” 

The robot cracked one knuckle as he stared off into the distance, despondently ignoring him.

“Oh you are _begging_ for an anti-rudeness chip, aren’t you-” Sung started forward only for Havve’s head to snap in his direction. He was looking at him. Through him. Past his skin.

There- into the thick of their link. Reading all the little things there.

 _I don’t beg for anything._ Havve said both suddenly and after half a century had passed. _I am enjoying myself_ though. He seemed to smile. _Just a little bit._

“‘A little bit.’” Sung scoffed, mocking and incredulous. Oh to be Havve Hogan, hanging in the shadows and lingering at the edges… Motherfucker didn’t have to _try_ and pack like the rest of them. He had two outfits max- the very definition of a minimalist. 

The robot had steepled his fingers again only to violently invert them. They were all angles now, hyperextending into infinity. _You do all realize you do this to yourselves._ He said, unsympathetic to his plight.

“Y’know what, why don’t you go and tell Phobos that?” Sung knifed back, making a big show of kicking at his clothes. “I’m sure he’d really love it.”

 _And make him cry? No thanks._ Havve told him in a voice that was no more than bramble and burr. _I think I'm good._

This is the part Sung hated. The hovering. The squabbling. The last minute panic and rush. But it was worth it, he told himself as he finally squirreled his jockstrap away, it was always worth it in the end.

Because _then_ came the leap of faith. The jump across galaxy after galaxy. The arrival and sense of belonging it brought with.

Open roads and opportunities.

 _That’s_ what going to Earth meant.

His back gave it’s own series of cracks as he straightened himself out. Havve clearly noticed it. Sung forced himself not to _._ “I know exactly what you’re thinking even _without_ the telepathy. You’re seven-point-seven billion years old now, Sung.” He dropped his voice to momentarily match Havve’s gravel-grumble-gravitas. “Give or take a few thousand sidereal turns, but no one’s counting that, and neither should you. It’s high time you grew up.” 

_Yeah, no, I don’t sound like that-_

“And I can admit,” He jumped right back into his usual pitch. “That yes, that _is_ twenty five and a half Earth years, but simultaneously…! That’s not even a googolth of a googolth in certain sectors if we’re taking all things into consideration, Havve.”

The robot gave a curious little tilt of his head. Studying him? Humoring him? A little bit of both. “All of this?” Sung flapped his hands. “It’s not just for myself. It’s for someone much more important-”

_Like Phobos?_

“No! I mean yes! I mean-” Son of a bitch. “I meant _multiple_ someones.” Sung proceeded to blurt. “I meant our fans, Havve! It’s also for the fans!”

A _pause_ followed that statement, the kind that all too happily invited in crickets, or something like a coughing laugh. Havve was sidestepping his way through Sung’s head in response though. Flat out _avoiding_ it. _Oh, how could I have_ ever _forgotten?_ He muttered eventually in a dry and awful tone. _Our lovely, wonderful fans…_

“They have certain expectations when it comes to our attire.” Sung began explaining rapidly. He was on a roll now because of this. Unstoppable. Impossible. A tiny whirlwind force of a man. “ _Especially_ when it comes to my very own personal ‘Cone Daddy’ brand-!”

Viper quick, Havve had his arm drawn back and a knife at the ready, aiming it right at his forehead. “HEY!” He was trying not to scream and failing miserably. “It’s a joke! It’s a friggin’ _joke_ , man!” 

Havve didn’t laugh. Or maybe ‘wouldn’t’ was the better way of putting it. _A joke we all agreed wasn’t allowed anymore._ The robot informed Sung, like he wasn’t in the know, like it didn’t mostly affect only him.

Gods. They were so far off topic Sung didn’t know how to get back to the start. Shoes. Respect. Solitude. At this point, he’d take any one of those. “Like it or not, whether you help me or fuck off, the light ups are non-negotiable.” He huffed. “Remember that one show at the end of 2018? End of the TTT circuit...?” 

The robot cut him a scathing look that clearly meant he didn’t.

Sung could work with that.

“I’ll go ahead and refresh your memory. Meouch ‘accidentally’ poured beer all over them and they short circuited, so I went out in some snazzy red Jordans, and people _saw_. It was Obama Tan Suits levels of infamy!” Sung tossed his head towards the ceiling. “Something I’ll never, _ever_ be able to live down!”

... _Please…_ Havve started in a grave tone. _Do not tell me you just compared yourself to the 44th president of the United States, Sung._

“That I did, Havve.” He was already beaming his victory. “Say- speaking of presidents… You _sure_ we can’t do anything about that whole ‘situation’ while we’re down there? Stay through November instead of moving onto Europe? Rig the election? Bring Bernie back in?"

Unfortunately his best friend had one too many years under his belt when it came to the speedy art of shutting Sung down. _Absolutely not._ _You_ know _the Federation’s been trying to nix this whole operation ever since you wrangled those bullshit NDAs back when we were kids. Let’s not add ‘overthrowing a political regime’ to our growing list of cosmic indiscretions, yeah?_

“ _I’m_ not the one calling it a political regime!” Sung couldn’t help but start giggling and batting his lashes at the fact.

 _But it’s the thought that counts, dickhead._ Maybe he would go and bother Meouch next. Or maybe he would find something to stab. Anywhere but Phobos’s way and anywhere but _here_. _Don’t waste the entire night looking for those damn shoes either._ Havve threw over his spiked shoulder at the last second, body halfway in the hall. _We’re heading out at first light, Sung._

Which meant no sleeping in at _all_.

The door closed shut and the empath could feel a hundred-thousand different things in that very alone moment, all of them clamoring and desperate and reaching for him. The ship groaning, the stars singing, everyone else’s emotions swelling all around him. “Aren’t you the leader?” They all seemed to ask as he kept staring at his mess. “This isn't that important. Just finish it!"

So for a little while, more like a long while, Sung’s existence was his hands and his clothing and his tightly furrowed brow; Meouch’s music the only real indication that the world was still turning as it tumbled and blared down the hall. But then, something was bumping up against his core, bright and curious, like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“At this rate it’d probably be smarter to bring the whole ship along.”

He twisted at the waist, a movement his spine loudly protested, and found Rich Aucoin standing at his door. 

“Well howdy, Space Cowboy.” Sung crowed excitedly at the sight of him. “Welcome to hell!”

“I’ll say.” The other man gave a low whistle before he set about tiptoeing his way. “Definitely more vibrant than I expected. Understandably cluttered. Though I gotta say… the aroma...?” Rich went through the motions of plugging his nose and sticking his tongue out. “S’pretty rank, bud.”

Sung’s lips twitched upwards. Now _this_ was good company. No bullshit. “Didn’t you hear? Sulfur’s out, masculine musk is in.”

Rich’s own dimples made themselves known at that. “Put it in a bottle and call it Eau de Cone. Make a _fortune_ off of it.”

He cackled a little too long and a little too hard at the joke before shoving one of the piles to the side to make room for him. Rich took it willingly too, only to surprise Sung as his nimble fingers began plucking and pulling and folding, like it was second nature to him. “Aw, you don’t gotta do that man-'' Sung started in a guilt ridden tone. He had just wanted some company that wouldn’t harass him like Havve had. Not… unintended manual labor, or whatever this was.

Rich rolled his shoulders in reply, forever the king of calm demeanors and casualty. “I don’t mind at all, besides, nothing much else for me to do around here.”

"Yeah, yeah, must be nice.”

“Sung! You’re worse than Meouch, and that’s _saying_ something.” He threw back, his joy a living, breathing thing. “It’s not _my_ fault you all own so much clothing. Hence my original statement. You have a mind reading, shapeshifting ship, Doc!” He folded a pair of socks together. “A TARDIS, if you will.”

Ah yes. His favorite suggestion-slash-argument “Psh. Eternal’s not the TARDIS. She doesn’t have a conscience, unless you’re counting C-Dubbs." Which a whole different can of worms. "Doctor Who lore aside...” He fell back into a pile of clothing. “You would _think_ that’d be the case, Richard, but there’s no cloaking device that isn’t ‘military grade’ or stolen that could cover this beaut once we put the wheels down."

"Oh?"

"Yup! You’re going to learn _verrryyy_ quickly that the parking in LA sucks. Scratch that.” He cut his hand through the air as he stared at his grated ceiling. “ _Every_ city has terrible parking, but that’s what Uber’s for.”

Excitement zipped through Rich at that, bursting like fireworks against his core. Once upon a time Sung had been the same exact way- fresh faced, eager, ready to explore. But for Rich it was even _more_ personal than it had ever been for him. Spending a whole summer touring across North America and then the fall in Europe and beyond? That wasn’t possible where he hailed from. 

Not possible at all.

No. That fractured, dystopian world which he had rightfully fled from was steeped in endless violence and bloodshed. So for him, this _was_ more than just a silly little tour and an opportunity to meet new friends. It was a homecoming of sorts unlike any other. A chance to start over.

The perfect re-do.

Rich had gotten back to folding and humming absently to himself, a half formed straining of a melody taking shape in the air. “You really don’t have to keep doing that man. I’ve got for the most part.” Moreso than Phobos if Sung had to guess, given all the distant anxiety knocking up against his core. “To be honest, I was working on an essentials checklist when realized I lost my shoes-”

Rich’s brows jumped. “Is _that_ what I’ve been sitting on?”

Sung gasped. “Bullshit.”

It wasn’t, they discovered, but his hoverboard instead. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! The list _was_ missing something else important!” He swore. “But Know-It-All Hogan said _differently-!_ ”

 _Stop yelling._ Havve’s voice groaned unexpectedly across the length of their link. _I can hear you from the bridge._

_Stop being a shit head, then! And lying! And over exaggerating! Asshat!_

Rich’s unexpected, soft laughter reeled him back in. “I still can’t get over it.” He was saying, admitting really, lashes falling over his eyes as his gaze flashed iridescent like fish scales.

Now what did he mean by that? Sung blinked and put the floral swimming trunks he had been casually folding into his lap for the time being, focusing all of his attention on the other man. “Yeah?” The feelings roiling through Rich were strange, he found. Forlorn and sentimental. Edged in misery.

He smoothed his hands over a t-shirt distractedly, over and over again. “You. This.” He said quietly. “Everything ever. How different things already are here.”

Different meaning better. 

Different meaning as they should have been. 

Sung brought their shoulders together and simply held them there. “Hey, you said it yourself, you’re _here_.” Everything clicked. Those feelings he had. The hope and heartache. The want and hurt. It all came back to that aching longing that snaked through the other man. When you travelled for so long, through countless lives and societies, it made sense to feel the way he did. “I’m tellin’ you though, we’ve got nothing but open roads ahead of us, Aucoin, so long as you don’t count the tolls, cos fuck that shit.”

“But Sung,” those prismatic eyes of Rich’s lifted slowly. “You’re forgetting the most important part.”

“Oh?”

“Booty...?” He prompted.

 _Now_ they were talking. “Booty!” He echoed right back.

-

It turned out Phobos had his shoes.

He had stopped by later, long after Meouch music had wrapped up and Rich decided to traipse off elsewhere; the high tops dangling from his fingers as he had stood there silently. Mouth coy. Antennae bobbing. Such an awful, little thing. “Finders keepers.” He said in a delighted whisper, his dark eyes dancing with.

“Hell. I should’ve known. C’mere.” He crooked his finger at the other. “Sit on my bag real quick.”

Phobos made an innocent sound and swung the shoes around instead of coming forward. “...Is _that_ what the kids are calling now?”

Sung ducked his head and snorted, then held his arms out, eager for Phobos to slip right into them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” He spoke against the Lepid’s curls before he shifted and situated him onto his suitcase. “At least not in here.”

“Hm?” Phobos went for one of the zippers while Sung grabbed the other, their actions already in sync. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Sung gave an easy roll of his shoulders in reply. The idea was to keep it calm and cool and casual. No accusations here. “In the kitchen eating ice cream at midnight. Taking a champagne bubble bath. Breaking some guitars. Pulling a Havve.” 

Phobos closed his eyes and gave him a rueful kind of half chuckling. “You couldn’t go with the fun and sexy answers, huh?”

Sung’s face dropped in tandem. “Not when you feel this way.”

It was _sloughing_ off of Phobos. This… perfect storm of trepidation and uncertainty, causing his heart to trip. Sung touched his kneecap through the rip in his jeans as he dug further into the feeling, inhaling softly, tangling their fingers up, holding onto him. “I’ve never seen you so nervous.”

Phobos gave a minuscule scoff. “Yes you have. You used to help me count my fingers-”

“I meant when it comes to this.” 

His throat clicked but he didn’t make any sudden movements, so Sung took that as his sign to press further in. “You’re usually in second place for pre-travel zen right after Hogan.” Sung quirked his lips to the side temporarily. “What’s goin’ on up there?”

“Mmm.” Gods. It had been a while since he had seen _this_ Phobos. So shy and quiet. Full of stilted sentences and, again, _uncertainty._ “...The Cloak…” He said at last..

Oh? Oh. Sung’s brow leapt up. Was _that_ what this was all about? It would be almost funny, in a way, if not for the fact that his boyfriend was going through his midlife crisis over it at the ripe old age of twenty-three. “What’s up? Is it not working like it’s supposed to...?”

“No. It is.” Phobos fidgeted a bit more before scootching closer, whispering so only Sung could hear him. “Meouch makes it look so easy, but I only have one other Fold in mine.” He touched his cheek carefully with his free hand, right under the dark pool of his left eye. “Meouch still looks like Meouch when he wears his, but I look like a stranger. A changeling. Someone playing _pretend_.”

Sung felt his core dim with the words. When Rich had told them he had brought his Cloak with him Sung had been _ecstatic,_ to say at the very least. The other-Earthling didn’t need it anymore, obviously. No more running and hiding from the law for him. To think, finally Phobos wouldn’t have to sneak around. The Lepid wasn’t like Havve, after all, who was content to stay hidden. He thrived in the sunlight. He wanted to be there. “You can show me, if you’d like.” The empath offered. “Maybe you’re overthinking it.”

“Mmm-mmm.” Phobos gave a small shake of his head. “I wanted to hit the pause button, is all. Just for a little bit.”

His mouth curved like the moon. A pause meant for two. “Now that I can most definitely do.” Sung nosed at the other’s jawline. “You’re excited though, right?” He asked as he touched along his hips, his spine, digits skimming along the peach fuzz softness of his skin. Phobos gasped. It was a good gasp. He grinned at the fact. “To see everyone? To be under the spotlight again?”

“Mmm.” Underneath all that stress was a very tired young alien. How much did he have left to pack, Sung wondered softly. It’s not like it really mattered. Havve would cut him some slack if he wasn’t ready. That’s how things worked around here. “I’ve missed Summer.” Phobos sighed without any kind of warning, gentle and wistful, like a cold and quiet wind.

Sung blinked up at him. “Summer or _Summer?_ ” 

He mulled over it for just a second. “...Both…”

“That’s so fucking fair.” 

A careful, subtle joy took up residence inside him. Phobos felt content, safe, _warm_. Much happier than he had been before coming in here. “I’m all done with my shit if you need help.” Sung cradled him in even closer. “Tomorrow, after we load up the pod, we can snooze cruise through the first half. You and me? A tiny, cramped bed? I can make it happen, baby,” Sung waggled his eyebrow. “Just give me the word.”

“...I think I’ll wait for the hotel room, actually.” Phobos tried to wriggle out of his grip only to fumble and flail. “C’mon, I’m hitting play again, and I’m giving you special permission to enter the war zone. Overnight.” He added the last part with an over the top wink.

“What an honor!” Sung gasped, totally meaning it. Like every year, they had all been silently warned off from approaching the Lepid’s self proclaimed ‘war zone of death and agony.’ Him most out of everyone. They had learned that the hard way. “I promise only to aid and not distract you.” He announced proudly.

“Bullshit.” Phobos breathed against the seam of his lips. “Now carry me to my room, or face the consequences."

*

Today was the day it finally happened.

Rich felt like he was made of helium. Like he was infinite. Like he was his own little universe- constantly expanding and creating endless possibilities and chances within himself. Everybody was moving around him like a well oiled machine, but he was soaring-flying- _wheeling_ -

“Aucoin.” A voice was trying to reach him from a million miles away, gruff and drawn heavy with smoke clouds and clove. “Ground control to Major Aucoin. Do you copy, bud?”

“Meouch!!! You totally just wasted that shit!” He heard Sung, _saw_ Sung, yelling from the pod’s rounded entrance- a full bodied effort, it seemed. A pause followed before he whipped inwards. “YES, HAVVE, I _DO_ HAVE AN ONGOING LIST OF JOKES AND PUNS TO USE FOR RICH AS SOON AS WE LAND YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT?”

“Fucking… anyways…” The Leoian made a terrible face as they continued to escalate. He was tucked into his own Cloak already, dreadlocks knotted back and golden eyes burning right through him worriedly. “You good? You’ve been zoning out here for the past five minutes or so.”

Phobos danced past them as he opened his mouth, fae-like, a thing of spring and warm winds. “Not to burst your bubble,” he said. “But it’s been more like ten.”

 _Had_ it been that much already? Rich felt like he ought to say something but they had all taken flight again, heading back whatever last minute tasks that were expected of them. Ten, ten, ten. He had _met_ all of TWRP for the first time ten years ago, now that he thought about it, possibly by pure chance or the guiding hand of Kismet. They had all been so unalike back then. So young. Four strangers instead of the cohesive being that they were now. “Sorry.” Rich rubbed the back of his head once he came back to himself, unable to do anything but stand there and fuss with his tight curls. “I’m excited.” Nervous was another way of putting that. Nauseous. High strung.

It was a lot. _This_ … was a lot. How many worlds had he fallen through just to get back here? Innumerable lives. Countless existences. Meeting mirrors of himself and strangers and people close to him. Places where there was nothing but darkness. Places where there was nothing but light. This existence was his favorite though for mulitple reasons. 

Where he most wanted to make a life.

Rich took one last breath of Eternal’s air and bid her and C-Dubbs farewell. He wasn’t used to all of... _this_ either, he had to note as he stepped over the threshold. He just took a step forward when he needed to go places. Plunge his way headfirst. But this little pod of theirs? This was nice. Intimate. Less terrifying than his usual method, he had to admit.

“It takes a few hours, right?” He decided to ask literally anybody who was listening at that moment. Maybe he’d grab his synth if that were the case, his song book...

“Yup, yup, yup.” Sung yawn-spoke into his open palm. Christ. He looked _weird_ with two distinctly colored eyes and a mustache. He must have been _staring_ staring because Sung started posing eagerly... Seductively? Rich wasn’t entirely too sure. “I’m a whole new man Richard!” He all but chirped. “Thanks to you, I can now make actual-factual eye contact-”

“That’s not what they’re going to be looking at.” The whole ship heard Phobos mutter in a sullen, surly way. Chin jutted with it, his little eyebrows drawn down, antennae ramrod straight.

Several things happened all at once at that. Sung’s mouth gaped open. Havve gave one solid fist pump. Meouch started groaning, sighing- “Fuck you Hogan,”-Grunting, then, as he jabbed his claws against his comm screen. “A deal's a fucking deal though, I suppose.”

“Did you-? I’m _sorry_. You’re kidding me.Phobos!” Sung’s head kept snapping between his boyfriend and the others frantically. “ _Did you guys make a freakin’ bet on my mustache!?_ ”

And _that’s_ where he took his leave. He held his hands up before seesawing on his heels. “Not my rodeo, Doc.” He cut Sung off decisively, before anything could be asked of him. He had absolutely no opinions on it and most definitely hadn’t bet any money on anyone's facial hair. Still. Rich felt just a little pang of guilt unfurl inside of him. Sung was frowning. It didn’t look natural on him. 

“But-!”

“Hey, Rich,” Meouch interrupted. “Hogan wants to show you something up here.” Blessed be his lord and savior Havve Hogan. He slipped towards the front of the ship after offering the other a small wince, his eyes immediately finding themselves drawn to all the different diagrams. “Crazy, right?” Meouch was smiling with all his teeth, his dark human features swathed in strips of green and blue. “S’lil more high tech than… well, whatever the fuck it is that you do, but it gets us where we need to be in one piece, and that's what counts."

“Insane.” Rich whispered as he drank it all in. So many numbers. So many little pieces and parts and machinery to factor in. To think _this_ what he did with his skin and bones. Breaking himself down into light and stardust and cosmic energy. Jumping through the very fabric space and time itself with no more than the hat on his head and all of his body drawn in... 

His gaze caught on a 3D model of Earth at the last second and the image tore into him. It was so similar to where he had come from, except not really. That place was a fucking war zone. A bad memory. A nuclear twilight he was _still_ eviscerating from himself.

He was falling instead of flying now, the click-click-clicking of Havve’s pen the only thing that made sense anymore. He crouched closer. Tried to find something else to cling to before they noticed it. Before Sung noticed it, most definitely. There was Havve’s notepad. Words written there.

It read ‘are you sure you’re ready?’

It was a challenge and a question and a check in all rolled into one. Was he actually? Yes. No. Maybe. He wanted to be. He could be. He should be. God, he _would._

In the end, this came down to being _his_ choice. His say. His destiny as he saw fit. He might be riding on the tailcoats of this fun little tour of theirs, but in the end, he got to make the decision.

Only him.

“Yes.” Rich breathed out with an eager finality, and with that, they shifted into gear.

Always forward, no looking back.

The future belonged to him.


	2. Summer Airbrushed Fever Dreams

They landed at night time.

There were pins and needles and static all along his limbs. Drool smeared across his cheeks and chin and jaw. Everything blurring and bleary and-

“Bro, look at your face!”

"Oh gods that's _weird_."

For a second, Rich thought they were talking about _him._ But no, his sleepy eyes found everyone standing over Sung of all people, the visor Rich himself had updated only a week ago having an epileptic fit. Two eyes appeared, then one; his face clipping in and out and in again. "Sung, did you-?" He started only to yawn. Sleep on it? Sit on it? Breathe on it wrong? 

Sung shook his head and rubbed tiredly at the pixels, making an even finer mess of whatever was happening there. "Mmmnoh." He almost fell right back into the tiny bed before Phobos caught his shoulder, shaking his head silently as he did.

"My boyfriend, the sexy eldritch horror, now give it here."

“No, no.” It was becoming painfully obvious that Sung was still partially asleep and mostly dreaming, all his words falling over one another like a goddamn avalanche. “If I do that, you’ll take away m'sexy mustache.”

Meouch made a disgusted noise and bared his teeth, seeming to momentarily forget that he was packed into his human skin. "Stop being such a weird ass freak of a baby-"

Sung tried to punch him and missed by a full mile. "Doesn't matter, I'll take it off, figure it out later, Summer and guys know the... the..." He waved his hands helplessly, eye(s?) still squeezed tight. “The thingy-thing. Whatever the fuck. ‘M going back to sleep now. Good night again!”

"Are we having fun yet?" Rich said with a wry grin as he strolled his way over to Havve. The robot's shoulders moved with a painfully obvious sigh as he watched his friends before he got to pulling his notepad out of his utility belt, his pen going to the margins. There were countless other conversations there. Underlines and cross outs, numbers and tally marks, overlapping shapes. 'How was the trip?' He wrote eventually, neat and blocky and to the point, just like him.

"Pretty good." But again, as a thought he would keep pressed into him for the rest of his life and then some, very, very weird. He wouldn't be over it any time soon. Rich had heard stories about airplanes and jets when he had been growing up, and seen them from a distance in other universes too. It had been like that, in a way, his soul packed into a metal tube. Sailing through the stars in a way that was so fast and impossible that nothing would ever catch up him.

No one.

'Good.' Havve penned back. 'We were nervous you would have some kind of reaction.'

Rich gave a pause-blink, pause again. “...Oh?” He finally replied after a good, long bit. Reaction? He could only imagine. Didn’t want to. Kept doubling back to it...

‘Sung didn’t tell you?’ The pen didn’t once leave the page, like it lived there. ‘Never mind. Forget I asked. Of course he didn’t.’ Havve’s shoulders moved with yet another sigh. ‘Idiot.’

It wasn’t like Rich was mad though. He was too eager-ready-aching to be anything like mad in that moment in time. Right outside those doors there was another world waiting for him. It didn’t know that yet, but it would soon…

Havve inclined his head towards the exit, seeing and knowing as he always seemed todo. ‘Go.’ He wrote. ‘It’ll be a bit.’

The pod door opened at his urging and there, there, _there_. A world filled with living, breathing, sleeping, dreaming things. With grass and sea and glass and concrete. With free will and endless self improving.

A world he had always dreamed of.

A world he would soon claim.

“Welcome to the Bay!”

Suddenly he wasn’t alone anymore. There was a thing, a _man_ , smiling with all of his teeth and already touching him. Dylan, he thought as two easy arms came around him. Dylan Charles Germick- Planet Booty’s front man. “You must be that rootin’ tootin’ space cowboy shorty’s told us all about!” He declared, instantaneously warm and eager and welcoming, all things Rich had already been told.

“Dylan!” A shrill voice started calling. “Did you ask if that’s allowed?!”

“Aw, damn, my bad. Let me just-” He really _was_ a funhouse mirror of Sung the more Rich looked at him. Taller, more put together, but eternally smiling and mustached. There were faint wrinkles around his eyes and mouth too. Crows feet. Laugh lines. Signs of a good life lived well. “-Loosen up my grip here. There we go. Howdy, if you don’t mind me sayin’, nice to meet you! As you heard, I’m Dylan, and that there is Josh!”

“I can introduce myself, actually.” Josh’s eyes were shrewdly slitted behind his glasses but Rich could already tell it was just an act. “Hi. Josh Cantero.” The other man announced, gaze _still_ slitted but now surreptitiously as he proceeded to study him. “Nobody told us your eyes did that..."

"Aw damn, would you look at that!"

"Well you see-" How did one explain that being a self made immortal with parallel awareness and the ability to slip into other worlds sometimes turned your blood, eyes, and tears rainbow? You _didn't_ , it seemed, because the moment Rich opened his mouth to say something smart and clever and winning about the fact, something else was screaming and streaking past him. Sung, he realized belatedly. Sung and Dylan. Dylan and Sung. Both of them gasp-laughing as they collided into another, yelling, overlapping, not an inch of space to be found between them. "Christ, here we go." Josh blew out a breath before cupping his hands over his mouth. "HEY! DON'T YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?!"

“Yes! And?!” It seemed Sung had decided to forgo the visor, just like he said minutes beforehand. There was a pleased flush on his freckled cheeks and his core was brighter than the sun as he snuggled impossibly closer. “We’re just _hugging_ , Joshua. It’s been over a year.”

"Yeah. Huggin'." Dylan said casually as he adjusted his grip, like Sung _wasn’t_ wrapped around him like a living car crash. What did Phobos think about all of this, Rich had to wonder, as he was still reeling, not expecting it. He turned and found the Lepid watching them with a fond expression, half hidden and tucked into the pod's entrance. "Pinky!" Dylan had taken notice as well and was somehow _still_ smiling. "Get your cute lil' ass over here." 

Josh gave a loud groan as Phobos also joined the amalgamation. "They're gonna be a bit." He slipped his hands into his pockets, sounding terribly used to all of this. "You and I can grab a couple of bags, maybe, get settled in? This is _my_ backyard, by the way." He preened. "Cute, yeah?"

"Uh..." Rich did not have a point of reference for what constituted as a 'cute' lawn, but he was trying to make a good impression here, not come off like an ass. "...Yes..." 

"You can say it's ugly." Josh added conversationally. "I'm not too good at weeding. It's like, not a priority, y'know?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Weeding? He had to have been on a planet with weeding at some point, right? His mind had become a fine tangle of overthinking, every little piece and bit and jump crisscrossing over and over again. Maybe he meant _weed_ weed. "Uh..." Rich said a second time as he felt a drop of sweat sliding down his forehead. Half California heat, half consternation. "The thing is..."

A gruff chuckle interrupted any weak attempt he could have come up with, thankfully. "You're stressing him out man." Meouch loped into their orbits with the easy comment, a duffle slung over his shoulder along with his precious bass. "Ignore him, Rich, he likes making guys he thinks are cute nervous."

"I do not!" Josh gasped in a scandalized voice while simultaneously looking all too pleased with himself. "Speaking of cute guys, I'm loving the longer hair look you've got going on."

Meouch chuffed a pleased sounding laugh in response. "It was Yev's idea, but I'm glad you think so, Cantero."

"Ah yes, _her_."

Rich tuned the rest of the conversation out, knowing all too well what it was like to flirt with Meouch and end up, for lack of better words, empty handed. It was just how the Leoian operated. Maybe he ought to do what Josh suggested though while everyone got reacquainted. Get the bags. Head inside. Relax a little.

And that’s when he saw a dog.

And the dog saw him.

“Oh!” Was all he could sigh-gasp-say before it was running straight his way. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a normal dog. Normal meaning unable to talk in full sentences, or walk on it’s hindlegs, or shift it’s shape up. “Dog!” He found his voice again, still surprised even _as_ it barreled into him.

They hit the ground with not an ounce of grace between them, Rich laughing breathlessly the entire time as they did. "Hey buddy, hi buddy, what's your name, friend?" 

“Diesel.” It seemed the last official member of Planet Booty had decided to make himself known. Enter Rob Gwin, tufts of gingery hair sticking out at every angle, glasses delightfully askew. "S'my dog. He won't bite you. Might scratch. Nothin' too bad." He spoke in curious little bullet points and the Other-Earthen couldn't help but smile at the fact.

"I think I can handle it." Rich informed him happily, causing Rob to give him a crooked grin.

They were all here now. Well, all except Summer. She’d be meeting them at the venue tomorrow, apparently. Something about being called in to work “one last shift” and last minute wardrobe changes. All words Rich knew, but the use and placement of them oh-so-painfully strange and foreign. He had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but in that moment, he felt off center watching the lot of them... Moving in a near perfect sync towards the house, laughing and arguing over what they ought to eat, the plans for tonight's sleeping arrangements. Everyone here was so irrevocably intertwined. There were _years_ worth of inside jokes and stories, relationships and familiarities. 

How did one go forward given those circumstances?

 _Now_ what happened?

Havve came upon him when he found himself frozen there, looking like a living weapon as the hazy California moonlight. His face was unreadable, but Rich could _feel_ his optics burning into him. There was no reason for this. He was making it into too big of a deal. He was being melodramatic. Still. He couldn't keep his mouth from working, the words spilling out of him. "There's an artist in a few universes that I really, really like." Rich said into the black hole of silence that he (or they, maybe they?) had created. "His name is Phil Elverum. He's pretty talented."

Havve blinked, the lawn going pitch black with the act before going red again. “You’d probably like him, he does a lot of drum stuff. Black metal. Experimental. Avant-folk. Whatever the fuck. He has this _song_ in this universe that’s not like any other song in any other life of his. A series of them, really, because that’s what he always does.” He was faltering, rambling, unsure of where he was going with all of this, but knowing he had _say it_. “But there’s a line in this specific one where he talks about being a yard, all these realizations crashing over him, and if you read up on it, it’s really silly and melodramatic," there was that word again. "But when you’re listening to it, it’s all encompassing. It digs itself in under your skin.

“...And that’s what this feels like right now. Like I’m going to look back at it and this is all going to be a fond memory. Something to put in a scrapbook. But right now I’m here. And it’s _everything_. And I’m not entirely too sure where I fit into all of this.” He was in _this_ yard, _this_ world, all the breath in his chest missing and without single purpose or thing to offer. 

Everybody else already fit into their spaces. Their spots. Their niches and set corners. He was an intruder from another Earth, on the other hand. He was an invader. An alien-

Havve shot forward and punched him.

It wasn’t violent. It was _un_ -violence. His metal knuckles knocked into his sternum, pressing ever so slightly, no more than the promise of Havve striking him. Don’t, said the look Havve was giving Rich without having to actually say it out loud. There was nothing in that moment but the moon, the two of them, the sighing, rushing wind.

He took a moment to remember how to breathe a second time.

No floating. 

No falling. 

Purely existing as is.

“Thank you.” He whispered roughly as the porchlight washed over them. Sung was standing there in the buttery warmth of it, hands on his hips, face screwed up a little bit, core fading in and out and in. He was reading the situation. Parsing the emotions there. Havve’s eyes flickered in reply and it was if they were one being split into two parts. Light and dark. Life and death. The sun and the moon. The beginning and the end. 

“What’re you two weirdos doing out here still?” Sung finally called out. He was just a man again when he did, and Havve was simply his robot companion. “We’re getting pizza from some local place and setting up Mario Kart. Loser pays everything. Yes. Even _if_ you don’t eat. That’s part of the fun.” 

Havve shook his head and Sung glared at him before looking right at Rich. His gaze was careful. Knowing. A softer version of whatever had just happened with Havve. It’s meant to be casual, he knew, meant as an invitation. You aren’t alone. You’re a part of this.

Let us bring you in.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had pizza.” Rich swallowed against the rising knot in his throat. “Even longer since I’ve played a video game, Sung.”

“Well anyone can beat Dylan.” The empath told him pleasantly as his features brightened. “Because he always lets us win.”

*

“I’ve made a huge mistake.”

“Hey!” Rob’s head popped up from the inside of their van. “Good reference! I got that one!”

To be fair, they all had made various blunders and miscalculations last night. He had just made the majority of them. All spurred on by an empty bottle of Jim Beam (finished mostly by himself) and several (read: six) Fireball plastic shot bottles he had left littered across the entirety of Josh’s living room. 

Normally when they got to Earth, they spent the first day exploring all the nooks and crannies of wherever their tour was starting until they had to get to the venue. Comparing and contrasting what had changed from the year before. Seeing what was truly different. But Rich had been there last night. And they just _had_ to celebrate. And now they were here and he was dying and oh gods, it was agony, it was _hell_.

He had his visor at it’s most base setting, the one he used all the time before Rich upgraded it; black and matte and stretching just below his forehead, and to everyone’s apparent joy- sans mustache. Of _course_ it had to be an absolute dream today. He could only be so lucky on a Saturday. “Summer said she’d bring pedialyte.” Josh told him, not even looking up from his phone screen. “And ginger? Isn’t ginger for cramps? God, being sober is _great_.” He emphasized on a point. “Bet you wish you could say the same thing.”

“Dylan,” Sung moaned pitifully. “Josh is _bullying_ me again!”

“I don’t know when, and I don’t know where, but I’m picking up weed ASAP.” Meouch had taken to stomping around with every step at this point, a hundred things hanging off of him. “You’re a fucking nightmare you know that?” He glared at Sung over his aviators. “The winter of my discontent. The worst mother fucker I’m acquainted with."

“It’s the bully Sung hour.” Rob clucked to himself quietly from the back seat as Sung gaped at him. “That’s pretty cool.”

“You drank too!” Sung jumped forward, insisting far too loudly and too quickly to where his head was immediately pounding from it.

“And _I_ can actually hold my liquor, unlike the rest of you.” He cast a dirty look Sung’s way, then Rich and Dylan’s.

Dylan, however, easily skirted past the accusation. “Aw, someone’s a Grouchy-Meouchy, huh? You can’t _blame_ Richard though!” He swung his arm over the other’s shoulder. “He’s never had our alcohol, and _you’re,_ ” he booped his nose. “As you said, a heavyweight.”

Rich was _also_ visored up and had his cowboy hat slanted low across his forehead, dozing off standing up by the sound of it. Sung’s core always got so fucky when he drank so there was no way of telling. It didn’t matter in the end. In this moment, nothing really did. “So this falls on you and those two, huh?” Meouch’s lips quirked before he pressed his smile away, but it was too late for him. Dylan pulled back and started dancing. 

“Baby," He trilled. "You can blame it _all_ on me!”

Gods. They didn’t deserve Dylan. Sung watched and gave a tired laugh before glancing at his own phone. Was Phobos _still_ MIA? They had… what? An hour to get to the doors for sound check? And they _still_ hadn’t had anything to eat yet. “I’m gonna…” He groan-burped into his fist at the thought of food. “MmmfindPhobos.”

_Puke, you mean._

Havve was tucked in right next to his drums, where he would stay quite happily until they got there. _I’ll puke on you, actually._ Sung threatened, deciding for everyone’s sake to keep this conversation limited to just the two of them. _Don't tempt me, man._

_Fuck around and find out._

Sung blinked five times in rapid tandem. _Since when did you start saying_ that?!

 _Since last night._ Havve shrugged at him before he made himself more comfortable. _You have your shoes, I have a new catchphrase. It's a new year._

Okay, that proved it, he _really_ needed to find Phobos before he lost the rest of his sanity.

The empath began tracing the path of the tour in his mind as he stood there in Josh’s foyer, thoughts aimless and head aching right along. San Fran to LA to Vegas first, then Phoenix to El Paso to Austin following. Then came Dallas and Memphis, Nashville and Atlanta. Jacksonville, Charlotte, Washington, New York City. Their favorite, Toronto; Detroit, Chicago, Minneapolis, Kansas City. Denver, Salt Lake, Boise. Seattle? Portland? Both, maybe? 

Wasn’t his fault North America was too big.

“Babe.” Sung whined after another minute passed, feeling impatient. “C’mon. We’re running late.” That could have been either an understatement or an overstatement. That was yet to be decided. “You better not be sleeping in again-”

“Oh, calm down.”

There was a stranger in the hallway calling him on his bullshit.

He had a shock of raven’s hair with a single streak of rose gold threaded in, along sweetly hooded eyes and a small mouth puckered up at him. And he was wearing Phobos’s clothes for whatever reason, plus he had his guitar strapped on... Wait. No. Hold on a second here.

“Phobs!?” He blurted.

“Actually, for all intents and purposes,” the other spun in a pleased little circle. “You can call me Moon Jin-woo, Sung.”

He looked _perfect_. Whatever all that talk about being a changeling and not fitting into his own skin surely hadn’t encompassed this Fold. Sung took a step closer, taking it all in. Still the same willowy height, still the same lovely little smile, but- “holy shit!” The empath exclaimed. “You have ears!”

“ _That’s_ what you notice?” How could he not?! They were both studded twice over with little black blocks. They suited him. Or maybe Phobos-slash-Jin-woo made them look good. It was probably a mix of both. “Wait until you get a look at my belly button. Then you’ll _really_ lose it.” The other male laughed.

“And you called my mustache weird.” 

“That’s because it is.” He was reaching towards Sung with his strangely familiar hands of his, pushing his visor back, touching along his skin. “There. Much better.” Phobos hummed as he cupped Sung’s face closer. “One eye, all those freckles, not a single bit of facial hair-”

Sung scoffed openly, just a _little_ offended at his choice of wording. “Excuse me? Have you forgotten? I _have_ a goatee, _Jin-Woo_.”

Phobos rolled his eyes and petted his cheek in mock sympathy. “Counted only by you, _Samuel_. Only, ever you.”

Headache and hangover forgotten, the smaller man tugged Phobos forward, both closer and towards the door. “If I could, I would do what you just did and we could have a very romantic moment right now inside our friends apartment, but I don’t actually know how to Unfold you.” He chuckled under his breath, pleased to see Phobos blushing happily as he did. “But maybe you can show me, later tonight…”

“Hey lovebirds. Time to get this show on the road!” That was Rob with his clarion call, his words undeniable. Still. Sung looked at Phobos, and Phobos looked at him, and they both sighed in unison, because life wasn’t ever fair.

“Later.” The Lepid turned human repeated his words before knocking Sung’s visor down with a snicker. Something flashed silver on his tongue, giving the empath pause. 

Was that… 

Had he...

Maybe today wasn’t so bad _after_ all.

Thankfully, once they had all gathered together and did their last checks, they all came to realize the venue wasn’t too far of a trek. Thirty minutes tops. And sure, the van was packed to the gills and there basically no room to actually try and breathe for real, but Sung was pleased as punch to see- to _feel_ \- Rich thoroughly enjoying his well deserved shotgun, head lolled back and the window rolled down.

Josh was also a huge part of this, skimming his way through traffic with a practiced ease as he answered every and all questions Rich managed to think of. “When we get back, before the tour with NSP, we can hit up the Redwoods and the Golden Gate Bridge.” He was saying. “It’s a little tourist-y, but you only say that when you’ve seen it almost every day.”

“We’re going _full_ tourist this summer.” Dylan piped up. “And can I be honest with y’all, I’m excited as hell about it. It’s gonna be like the good days again. There’s places the TWRP boys still ain’t ever seen, and we're gonna change that!”

“And don’t forget Buc-ee’s.” Rob added in that muted, offhanded way of his...

...Causing Josh to nearly crash the van as he started screaming. “OHMIGOD. I FUCKING LOVE BUC-EE’S. YES.”

Near death experiences aside, everything felt good. Better than good. Things felt great. _Incredible._ A beautiful amalgamation of wonder and anticipation and positivity. Tomorrow, he’d really be back on track, and the tour would be officially started, and the whole world would belong to them.

But for now, right now, they were nothing more than eight grown men, dogpiled into a van with Jungle’s “Heavy, California” filtering overhead.

And he was happy.

Nothing could stop them now.

*

They were working on a map.

Well, not exactly.

 _The Phantasm_ was working on a map, as Yevgeny had up and vanished.

Which was surprisingly unfortunate, for once.

If it were any other day, having some peace and quiet and solitude would be a gift from the gods, but today was not ‘any other day.’ No, today was a _bad_ day. The kind of bad that had xir teeth grinding and nails pressing deep, aching crescents into xir palms. How could xe simultaneously have too much information and not enough? What wasn’t clicking? 

Where did xe even _start?_

It seemed the main problem the Phantasm kept running into was the fact that the Milky Way fell far out of the Federation’s jurisdiction. Those idiots down there weren’t technologically advanced or competent enough to even be _considered_ a planet they should have on their radar, so everything they had on Earth was mostly bullshit. Despite that, if anybody _did_ break the standard, they, as hired agents, had an obligation to handle the situation.

Like Roswell, and the Bermuda Triangle, and Rendlesham and...

“Shank Hall!”

The day had decided, in hateful, karmic fashion, to go from bad to even worse.

“What I would _give_ to go to a place like Shank Hall!”

Xe kept xir face bowed into xir busy work. “It’s a venue, Yevgeny.”

“Gesundheit!”

To all the gods above and gods below… So help xir now...

He was an exercise of halves as he sidled up next to xir. Half leaning-half reading-half assing his way through xir paperwork. “2017, 2018, 2019… Oh man, I bet _this_ is gonna be a good one. Don’t humans on that Earth have a saying? 20/20 vision? What about 20/21?”

The Phantasm’s fingers itched to grab his tie and slam his face into the hardwood. “I don’t know.” Xe sneered. “I don’t care.” This was a means to an end. The end of all this running and chasing and _bullshit._

What xe cared about was finding the Space Cowboy and burying him.

Yevgeny whistled, as if his life weren’t in the balance here. “Alrighty then.”

The Phantasm dipped back into xir work. There were specific locations that TWRP visited. Capitals. Big cities. Places where _lots_ of people lived. It was so insanely stupid. Toeing the line like they did. Barely attempting to hide themselves. Hell. They made a mockery of everything the Federation did as part of their image. The future of the 1980s? Of _Space Canada?_ Bullshit. The Phantasm hated them. And hated this. And felt xir soul go a little bit blacker because of it. Someone had allowed this.

Someone had made xir life this very hell.

Xe had either gotten very good at hiding xir emotions over the past months or Yevgeny was just plain obvious, because he wasn’t getting the hint, wasn’t leaving yet. “Well, while you were doing all of this, _I_ was doing my own research.” He said.

If there was one thing the Phantasm hated more than the Groove Crusaders and Richard Aucoin, it was liars, and Yevgeny was the reigning king of them. All he _did_ was lie. Black lies. White lies. Lies that xe had seen change lives and end them. “All recorded instances on the four of them that we have on file. Plus their associates. They’ve got a _lot_ of friends.” 

The Phantasm's eyes cut up, a cruel and awful kind of laughter bubbling up from deep within, only to have it die in xir mouth when xe saw what he had. A file. An actual hard-copy file that he was handing to xir. “I would highly suggest,” He hummed too pleasantly at the look on xir face. “That you turn to page thirty three.”

“If this is some kind of prank-” Something was loosing itself inside of the Phantasm. A thing of wrath and roaring, of utter disbelief. 

“It’s not. Listen. I’ll be honest with you. At first,” He situated himself on the table and folded his paws into his lap. “With just our Space Cowboy, I wasn’t really into it. There was too much possibility, and not enough interesting places to visit.” Outliers. Forgotten planets. Places they weren’t even allowed to step foot on and had to sneak in. He was full of himself, but xe got where he was coming from. They really had been sent on a wild goose chase. “But then those Groove Crusader dudes got involved and I got to thinking… what the hell is up with them?”

The Phantasm _heard_ him but xe really wasn’t listening to his words, already too busy flipping through the pages to where xe needed to be. Past the profiles detailing Doctor Sung’s first known appearance, Lord Phobos’s murky history as the last known living Lepid, Commander Meouch’s extensive felonies list (him more so than the others for obvious reasons), and Havve Hogan… a complete and total mystery. There were others too that every agent vaguely knew of.

A Sileni alien named Bombus who threaded his way through their lives time and time again. A reclusive Vanitas alien they had taken “hostage” once known as Lazerhorse to most and _Mari Lwyd_ in the crime world. Sketches of yet another Lepid named Deimos, supposedly, who was supposedly unaccounted for. Close ties to Golmi royalty. A group of cybernetic "story tellers" known as the Protomen. Some crackpot shapeshifter named JP, who dealed in all sorts of illegal _stuff_...

All of that was followed by a bunch of vague reporting and projected bullshit. It was enough to put crime down on paper, but first meetings? Connections? That’s where the Federation failed to come up with virtually anything. The Phantasm breezed through the rest of the sheets knowing it would be more or less what xe had already been looking at, hungry for whatever lay on page thirty three.

Xe stopped. Looked up and up and up very slowly.

“Told you.” He whapped his tail against the table.

Mojave.

Of course there was more to read. The Phantasm hadn’t thought to look much into their history of traveling through this solar system, but Yevgeny had apparently felt or seen or known _something_. Assault and battery. Stealing. Destruction of property. The strangest thing being the amount of redacted information scattered through the document’s entirety. “...This doesn’t help.” Xe announced as xe covered xir eyes. Surprisingly, the Phantasm wasn’t seething. It had been something. Better than the usual absolute nothing he always, always came up with.

“...Everyone calls us thieves…”

Xe stopped and looked at him in shock. Never before had xe heard him talk like that. And gods, oh gods, he wasn’t smiling. His face was a mask of pure misery and it looked wrong. “It’s like the Leoians, you know, or was, if that’s the better verbiage. They’re all involved in the Funk smuggling business. They should stay on their home planet. Stay away from them if you want to live. You know, space racism, gotta love it.” His smile was back and it was god awful. A pure mockery of it's usual self. “I can’t say we had it better or worse. But some of the most innocent names and implications were sneak thieves and tricksters. Vulpini take. Vulpini spy. They fence, they traffick, they’re who you go to for financial crimes. But that meant we _always_ had a place on Mojave. The seedy underbelly there was made for things like us. Hated. Outcasts. Those that were down on their luck and chances. Those who needed new lives.”

Xe didn’t like this. Knowing more about him. Learning such… personal things. But what other choice did xe have? The Phantasm steeled xir spine and sat a little straighter, indicating silently that yes, xe was _actually_ listening this time. “So I called up the family after yesterday, because _everyone’s_ family on Mojave, in a way, and I found out some things. Things that were redacted for a reason, and not just because of Mojave’s ‘ownership’ claiming legality.”

For fuck’s sake, he was doing it again. His dramatics and little bits. Xe gestured hurriedly for him to go on. Wanting to get to the end of this...

“Avis.” 

The Phantasm glared. “Don’t fuck around.”

But… there was a ring of truth there this time compared to yesterday. The Phantasm closed xir eyes and exhaled slowly, slowly... “You’re telling me the _Watchers_ were involved in this?” Those strange, timeless beings that sang the countless songs of the universe and almost never left their peaks. The one species of aliens the Federation had no say over. No sway. To think that Yevgeny of all people believed in them and all of this nearly made xir laugh.

But something kept xir from doing _just_ that for the time being.

Hope, maybe.

Or whatever hope was called for wretched things like xir.

Thankfully, his mouth had stretched itself back out to it’s usual leer. “Four, specifically.” He announced much too cheerfully. “Three of them were hunting down another who had apparently gone rogue with Bombustron and the Golmi kid. It was a whole fucking mess down there. The Underground didn’t get specifically involved, but they had cameras everywhere. Records of it not even the Federation knows.”

The Phantasm’s temple twinged, right near the jewel in xir forehead. Bastard knew this kind information and was only telling xir? Xe tucked it away for later. As something to use against him, or get him to work on his humility at the very least. “Now I say one went rogue, but apparently, after everything that happened, another followed suit and went her own way.”

“Free will.” Xe offered up, fingers on the map again. “Their greatest enemy.” They watched, they bore witness, they sang their songs into infinity forevermore. That was all there ever was for them. To leave was death. It was even worse to interfere. “You’ve stumped me.” Xe said dryly. “I have no clue as to what two defective Avis have to do with _any_ of this.” In a way that counted. In a way that could assure xir victory. “Do me a favor, Yevgeny, and drop the other shoe.”

He hopped off the table and wagged his bushy tail eagerly. “Phanny, I’d like for you to meet Kestrel…” He gestured to the doorway, and in it was a beautiful girl made of feathers and fury, staring daggers right into xir. “She’s our new partner, and bounty hunter extraordinaire.”

“Pleasure.” She purred. “Yevgeny’s told me so much about you."


	3. Help Me Get Where I Belong

“So, tell me all about your girlfriend~”

It was 1 AM. He was standing outside of a taco truck. He was here but not actually. Physically, he _was_ waiting in the space between Rob and Phobos, eyes faced forward and hands loosely clasped. But mentally? Emotionally? Rich was digging in deep. Back to a time when he had still been blue eyed and red blooded. Back to when he had still a human being.

Back, back, back... back to seventeen.

What would the younger version of himself think? Of being out in the open? Of having actual money to spend? Of being with good friends after a concert? Of being older than he ever could have imagined- somehow still alive and without any kind of foreseeable end?

"He is _ORDERING_ , Summer!" Josh's words all but exploded out of him, startling Rich back into the present while everyone else in the group shared a knowing laugh. He wasn't wrong though. Meouch _did_ have one elbow up on the window sill-counter and his wallet half out, glaring, silently telling them with his eyes to settle down. 

Rich _should_ have been looking at the menu after that, but his thoughts were still slap-dashed into one another and tumbling over themselves. The show, he kept coming back to the show. It had been incredible. Indescribable. An impossibility that he could only _hope_ to put down onto paper and make into a song. There had been something about being in the middle of all that chaos as the lights went dark. About the anticipation that they collectively felt. About the need and the wanting. About the music in the floorboards, through the airwaves, thrumming in his heart.

A kaleidoscope of colors.

A long awaited promise bursting at the seams.

He had never felt so alive before.

He had never wanted to _leave_ -

" _Señor_ , your order?" The elderly man behind the counter asked both politely and pointedly, pinning him to the spot.

Aw, shit. Rich startled forward. Stared at the menu. Straight up _blanked_. "Uh, I'll have whatever he's having." He pointed Phobos's way at the last second, too panicked to think of anything else.

"It's a good choice, _sí_? Don't look so worried!" The man told him as he took his money with an easy grin. "But _ese_ , your friend said he didn't like spice. D'you want it made spicy? Cos we got the spice!"

"Make them _both_ spicy, mister!" Sung yelped from the back before Rich or Phobos could protest or say anything at all. "There's still a debt to be paid!"

"You'll never let that go, will you-?!"

"Not likely, babe!"

Taqueria faux-pas aside, there was no denying it really was a beautiful night. Balmy and breezy, carrying the echoes of the distant city. Even the overcast haze that lingered overhead wasn't too terrible. There were street lights everywhere, after all, and soon _every_ night would be the stars and the velvet sky. "Okay, alright, one second woman." He heard Meouch grumbling from the nearby bench. He had finally gotten his own food and was trying desperately to get comfortable. "You're worse than Cantero is!"

Summer batter her lashes like it was a compliment. "Naturally. Now tell me everything!"

The Merch Goddess was, as everyone had told Rich beforehand, an absolute treat; radiating warmth and happiness just like her namesake. She was the kind of person who could make anything into a celebration, who immediately made you feel like family. She had taken one look at him when they met in the then empty venue before nodding approvingly to herself. "You're just missing the boots." She had commented after another moment. "We can make them happen in Texas, if anything."

"Her name is Yevon." Meouch admitted finally. No. That wasn't quite the right word for it. He _professed_ it with his entire chest and his entire being. "Usually she goes by Yev. She's a real fucking treat."

"OHMIGOD MEOUCH, YOU NEED TO SHOW ME PICTURES NOW, IMMEDIATELY!" Summer gripped at his arm all dramatically. "I like, already need to meet her. Anybody who can tame you has to be absolute royalty."

Rich shoved his hands further into his jacket pockets and left them to their devices, moving without purpose under the orange streetlights. There was an itch, a scratch, a _biting_ in the back of his mind to put his thoughts onto paper and bend them into song shape- but his notebook was back at Josh's place, and Havve was in the back of their truck charging his battery...

So he simply stood there with his face turned upwards, breathing in the night sky and- for lack of better words- caught in a day dream state.

"Here." Phobos was at his side in his human skin after ages had seemed to pass, handing him a cup of... something... there was a _lot_ going on in there. "Call me biased, but I think it's great."

"What _is_ it?" Rich sketched a curious brow.

" _Elote en Vaso_." He shook his own cup temptingly. "I'll take the rest if you don't want it, okay?"

He poked at it with his spoon a few times after the other man left him. Everyone looked so content when he looked them, like everything was in it's right place. Phobos had joined Sung right as the empath flipped a coin into the nearby fountain, while Rob, Josh, and Dylan were off to the side, just past Summer and Meouch; taking selfies by the van and thanking the owner for being open so late at night. The last thing he wanted to do was rush the moment, so he dug his spoon in and decided to wait.

"Holy shit." He gasped at the first bite.

Phobos was right. This _was_ pretty great.

-

He had decided that today was going to be a good day.

There were several reasons for that, Rich had to suppose. His stomach wasn't trying it's best to climb up and out of him and he wasn't walking through a fog of half-forgotten memories. Better yet, today was the day that they officially hit the road, and not only was he already on the bus, but he had already claimed the comfiest bunk bed. He was curled up on it now, one ear against the pillow and both eyes closed. "What," apparently Josh was now here. "Is the exact exchange rate for space dollars to USD? Cos this seems hella boujee.."

"Pffft. 'Space dollars.'" He heard the nearby leather couch creak. The flipping of book pages followed suit along with Phobos's telltale soft laughter. "That one's new."

"Then what's the _real_ name of this so-called space currency?"

"Credits!"

"Ugh!" Josh blew out a disbelieving exhale. "Boring!”

He peeked his head out from the curtain surrounding his tiny bed at that, causing Josh to issue a tiny scream of fright and Phobos to jump in tandem. "...Anything's better the scuppies." He said after they had finally managed to settle down, only feeling slightly guilty over causing an actual real life jump scare.

"...Scuppies...?" Josh and Phobos echoed in a slow and wary unison, as if they somehow knew what was coming next.

"Yup. Old, carved teeth." He explained succinctly. "The older the tooth, the more value it has. There's a whole black market on this one planet based around the illegal pulling of teeth..."

Josh balked with his whole body. "Um, remember how I said I wanted to go to space, Phobos? I _lied_." The older man wrapped his arms tightly around himself before he started shuddering. "I'm Earth-bound. Permanently. No one's getting _these_ pearly whites any time soon cos I just know my dental doesn't cover stolen teeth!"

"Aw, it's not all that bad-" He could probably give a week's worth of lectures about all the different types of money that had fallen through his fingertips, but Sung was a sudden riot of colors as he came tripping up and into the main hallway, drawing every eye to him.

"I know I'm late to the conversation, but if Danny and Brian can get a big boy tour bus, then so can we, gentlemen! We've got _wayyy_ more cargo'n'crap than they do, and besides..." Sung drew back the bunk curtain even further, winking (blinking?) his one eye down at him. "We did this for you!"

Red washed up and down his entire being. "Sung..." He eked out, fingers twisting on the bed sheets. "You could've put me on a bike and I would have been fine.”

There was no denying that the bus was beyond comfortable and convenient and beautiful, but... well, it was just like the difference between using TWRP's pod to travel and jumping his own way. There was just something about the wind in his hair. About being able to push and pedal his body towards some great unknowing. About his skin and bones being one with the sun and sky and everything-

"You might have," Sung began in a playful undertone _._ "But Phobos doesn't know how to ride a bike at all!"

"Do too! I just... fall a lot." He glared over the cover of his book when he obviously heard him, speaking right into it's gutter in a sour tone. "It's not _my_ fault my antennae have to overcompensate for lack of wings-!"

"Oh please." Josh held up his hands wearily. "It's _way_ too early for a lore dump!"

Sung pulled back and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Besides! It's a non-refundable deposit, bud. We're stuck with this baby until October." He didn't even have the decency to frown when he said it. Bastard was too proud. "Now, as much as I'd love to learn all about teeth money, I _instead_ have to be the responsible one."

"You?" Josh asked, painfully incredulous.

"Responsible?" Phobos followed suit, even more so.

Sung shrugged. "Who woulda thunk! In all seriousness... You got everything, right? Nothing left behind? Cos Grumpy Cat is starting to get real antsy-"

"Fuck off!"

Rich hadn't even noticed him until he spoke. Meouch was in the driver's seat, a can of Monster pressed tight against his bottom lip, ready and eager to be chugged. He was wearing distressed jeans and a v-neck t-shirt, aviators pushed high up on his forehead and one Timb propped up on the dashboard. Meouch really did 'human' all too well. "I'd like to see you drive this thing and not get worked up, huh!?"

The empath scoffed in return and put his hands on his hips in such a way that it could only be construed as 'sassy.' "Oh aren't you just a self-fulfilling prophecy! Road rage is meant for the _road_ , asshole."

His earlier point turned around on itself as Meouch tried to make himself as big as possible, bristling in the confines of his dark skin. "Bite me, then." Meouch growled instead when he realized it wasn't possible, raising his middle finger up.

"Thanks, but I already have a boyfriend for that, Meouch."

"What in the gods damn FUCK do you mean by that!?" A pause followed before his face was nothing more than horror and regretting, his eyes darting between the two men. " _NEVER MIND._ _FORGET I FUCKING ASKED-!_ "

"Oh, I'm sorry, you _don't_ want to hear the sordid details about what me and Phobos do in our free time?" Sung stalked forward. "Because I would just _love_ to share!"

"Where's your _decency_ , man!?" And so it began. If it wasn't with Havve, it was _bound_ to be with the Leoian. Such were the ways of kismet and TWRP. Still. Josh could only shake his head despairingly as they continued to bicker, muttering a judgemental "boys will be boys" into the clasped cover of his hands before stepping forward. "Listen, Rich, are you sure you're ready for four months of this?" Unlike Sung, he actually kept his voice lowered when he leaned in, so only Rich could hear. "Because if not, you can totally stay here. _M_ _i casa es su casa._ I trust you with it."

Rich could only stare. Josh was... half joking, he realized a beat later, but also being semi serious as well. For a moment, he allowed himself the daydream-thought of settling and letting his roots spread. It would be so easy to do in a place like this. The Bay had already proved itself to be beautifully alive and vibrant. But there was more out there. More people, more stories, more places, more shows... "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll be just fine, Josh." He finally pulled himself out of the bed only to flop his body immediately down next to Phobos, sprawling his legs out. He placed his cowboy up and onto the crown of his head before shooting Josh a crooked grin. "Besides, the sane outweighs the insane more often than not here."

"You say that now." Phobos flipped his page with a small smirk. "But anything's possible, Rich."

*

“You’re fucking kidding me! You’ve seriously never been?!”

It was sometime after show number three. ‘Sometime’ being the operative word in this very situation because the inside of the Bellagio Casino was like living inside a dream. Time didn’t exist here. Couldn’t, really. It was simply the roaring of laughter, the pouring of drinks, the promise of money, and glory.

Always, always glory.

Phobos was hanging off his arm and had his hip popped up against the hardwood, his true form tucked into the visage of Jin-Woo all nice and neatly; hair slicked back and dressed to the nines in a suit Dylan had given him last year.

Sung, known to everyone now at the table as the endearing and ever fortuitous “Mr. Galaxy”, was momentarily ignoring Dylan in favor of lining his roulette chips up across the board. “It seems redundant.” He answered in an almost slur. Everyone was tipsy in the room, which meant _he_ was punch drunk off their energy. 

“He means too on the nose.” Phobos' voice was a pleased purr as he guided Sung’s hand the other way, past another bettor. “That’s the ‘Mitch’ and Hogan argument, at least. Remember, Sam? We talked about it the first time we ever came ' _here_.'”

“And therein lies your answer.” Dylan hadn’t even attempted to change after they had left the venue. All eyes had been drawn to the gold leaf inlay of his suit the moment he had entered. The easy gait with which he commanded the carpets and marble of the casino. As if Adonis himself was walking amongst them, even for a little bit. “At that point, it feels like a right of passage to _drive_ by Area 51, knowing those are the circumstances.”

The dealer called out pointed “no more bets!” and Sung pulled his fingers back before Dylan could say anything else. “I don’t know, after all the memes?” This had to be the first time he had ever turned Dylan down. Tried to, at least. A strange sensation began to eat away at the smaller man with the realization. A wary cognizance. What had happened to the Sung that had literally proposed to force Trump out of office a few days ago? To the known tiny bastard extraordinaire? _Havve_ _, if you’re in my head…_ Wait, no, that had been a thought meant only for him. Sung stilled as it slipped into their shared distances, slowly finding it’s way towards the other man. “Okay, hold up. My brain’s not… currently that great, right now."

Phobos tutted and fixed Sung’s hair deftly for him. “Says the man betting all this money...”

“Listen-” _  
_

 _You better not be thinking what I_ think _you’re thinking. Sung._

And there was Havve, pushing into his head so suddenly and savagely that Sung could actually _see_ him. The robot was glaring at the empath from over the top of the table, his arms folded over his chest, his back straight, his optics bloody murder red. _What are you, my nanny?_ He shot back as the wheel spun around and round; black on red and black again. Losing bet, winning bet. All points leading back to Havve. _Legitimately, what’s the harm in it? We can just slav squat in front of the gates or something, give Rich a rundown on some conspiracy theories if he’s never heard about them, head out or back._

 _Can’t you just listen to me for once without arguing?_ Havve slammed his hands down onto the table but the wheel kept turning despite the fact. _Why do you always push back!?_

 _Because-_ “Congratulations!” The dealer cheered as she flourished her hands before the now stopped roulette wheel. Never mind, Sung thought as even more cheers went up. Not his full bet, but he had still won some damn good money. “Will you be playing again?” She leaned across the table, painted eyebrows waggling, her body cutting over Havve's, a gods awful superimposing she wasn't even aware of. “You’ve had amazing luck so far, Mr. Galaxy!”

Havve was still staring at him straight through the poor thing, so Sung forced himself to push away and revel in the strange susurruses of the casino instead. “I am unfortunately calling it a night, Mademoiselle Croupier, or perhaps 'morning' is the better word. It’s been a delight either way.” Everyone was smiling around him, moreso here for the show of his winnings than actually betting against him. “Jin-Woo, please, if you would?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Phobos pulled the chips in before landing on his right, his perfect compliment, his most favorite thing in the world.

_You're not getting rid of me that easily..._

“And Dylan.” He executed an endearingly sloppy bow before offering his left arm to the other. “Let's walk and talk."

“Oh, so he’s _fancy_ now~!” Dylan cooed to Phobos with a waggle of his own eyebrows before sliding up to him, their arms looping with a practiced ease. “How money changes a man.”

Sung threw his head back and started laughing, briefly forgetting all his troubles and letting the two other men take the lead.

All the while though Havve stalked them like a phantom, doggedly pursuing their little group through countless bodies and slot machines- all the way to the cashier, and further yet, to the Bellagio’s conservatory. It was all pagodas and sakura blossoms this time of year, bonsai and rhododendron; demure geishas and incredible dragons and even leaping samurai. “Think about it." Dylan said once they found a nice little niche. "We didn’t have any plans on the docket for tomorrow, plus y’all got a place like this up your way.” His eyes rolled up to the glass ceiling deliberately. “So this is me saying that we hit the Extraterrestrial Highway-”

 _Absolutely not!_ Havve began to hiss right as Sung forced him out. He couldn't take it anymore. The hovering. The glaring. The inherent judgement of it all. No walls to climb or peek over either. Sung went for the complete severance. Out, out, out. Until Havve calmed down, he told himself quietly, until he talked to him like an adult.

Silence followed.

 _Pure_ silence. 

Gods, he had actually forgotten how this felt.

Dylan’s grand speech managed to draw Sung back before he could fall into the pure _emptiness_ of it all. “-and I know it's a lil' out of the way, but I promise we’ll make it a damn good time for y’all.”

“I do enjoy having the occasional ‘good time’ every once and a blue moon.” Phobos hummed, fingers dancing along the petals casually, where no one ought to be touching. Forever the little shit. “Fine. I’m in. I’ll work on Meouch.” Those same fingers slipped into Sung’s pocket then, drawing a fair amount of cash out.

"Hey now..."

Phobos simply smirked and shrugged, dark eyes laughing. “It’s called compensation, Mr. Galaxy.”

His mouth rounded at the Lepid-Not Lepid’s choice of wording. “For being _eye_ candy, babe?! ”

His brows inched just slightly upwards and Sung knew immediately that he had fucked up. He opened his mouth to apologize but Dylan was already laughing, making it near impossible. Phobos moved forward as he stood there gaping, mouth skirting across Sung's jaw and up to his temple; swift as wings and dreams. "I'll be taking extra just for that." He murmured against the shell of his ear.

Sung sighed. Relented. Came to accept that he had done this to himself. “So much for being a cheap date.” He couldn’t help but murmur back as Phobos withdrew another set of crisp bills, turning his own head to kiss the other's cheek. “Just do me a favor, yeah? Don’t spend it all in one place."

“We’ll see.” He stuck out his tongue before giving them both his sauciest, most over the top wink. “And _don’t_ act like I’m not worth every penny. You love me, after all."

“Even when you bleed me dry.” Sung heaved yet another over exaggerated sigh, pressing his smile away as he did.

“Please, I make up for it in other ways-” 

“Damn,” Dylan cut in before either of them could continue the charade. “Y’all are kind of kinky. You into that exhibition thing?” 

And _that's_ when they all lost their collective shit.

Eventually Phobos broke away from the gasping circle of uproarious laughter they had created, all smiles and confidence in the face of impossibility, promising he’d be in their room later, when what needed to be done was done… That left him and Dylan all by their together-lonesome once he left, standing side by side under the waxing moon. There were other guests and visitors there milling about, but they didn’t feel very important in that moment to him. His life felt like a movie. Not so much that it wasn’t real, more like it was ethereal and diaphanous and borne from the heart of these summer days. 

Halcyon, he figured, these were _true_ halcyon days.

“I don’t know what your plans are now that your ass got ditched, shorty, but I heard,” the taller man sidled closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper, as if it mattered who overheard them. “That there’s an all night party at Harrah’s that you just _have_ to go to. Josh, Rob, and Summer are already there. Having quote-unquote ‘the time of their lives.’”

Oh? Oh? “You mean Carnaval Court?” He had always heard of it but never been.

Dylan was gleaming as he clapped his hands together. “The very one!”

What else could you, would you, should you do in the city that never slept? Especially given his circumstances? Sung beamed right back, deciding to briefly ignore the negatives, eager to plunge right in. “What’re we waiting for?” He cheered excitedly. “Lead the way, my good man.”

-

The inbetween days were the _best_ kind of days. There was no rush. No worry. No need for actual energy. They could all spread out, together or separately. There were never any expectations. No assumptions. Just casual check ins and accidental passings.

That’s what today _should_ have been, anyways.

Except the first thing Sung saw when he opened his eye come mid morning-slash-almost afternoon was _Meouch_ of all things and beings standing right over him. He looked pissed to shit and ready to fight someone... “Gods, how much sleep did _you_ get last night?” Sung mumbled as smeared the back of his hand across his mouth, pressing a yawn back in and down.

His whiskers twitched oh-so-subtly. It had been almost a week since Sung had seen him like _this_ , in his own skin, and the sight of his fur and mane was almost jarring. “I could ask you the same fuckin’ thing, shit head.”

"Great question. Let me double check." His gaze swung as he sought out the digital clock and the numbers there. “It appears that I’ve taken a three hour nap.” He mused in a dry tone. It wasn’t anything terrible. Not when their next show wasn’t until late tomorrow and he had plenty of time to catch up on some rest. “...Is there any specific reason why you’re here?" He asked when Meouch didn't start leaving. "I didn’t ask for housekeeping or a wake up call.”

“And I didn’t ask for a third rate Vegas comedy act, but you’re still running your mouth.” Sung’s brow jumped at the acidity in Meouch’s tone, his core giving a warning pulse. “Besides, I think the more important question here is this. Is there any specific reason why _Phobos_ spent the majority of last night trying to fuckin’ bribe me, Sung?”

Ah. Right. Area 51. Everything from the night before was still a blur...

Said culprit, it seemed, had already flown the coop- probably lazing his day away with Summer with endless mimosas by the pool. “It wasn’t my idea.” Sung admitted with a groan. “But it was my fucking money.” He added under his breath. What had Phobos done, exactly, to get Meouch this upset? Bribery usually meant _getting_ what you wanted, not a verbal lambasting.

Unless something else had occured.

“That’s karma, bitch.” Meouch said simply, the flick of his tail the only other reaction he seemed keen on giving him. He stood there, still waiting then, eyes hungry and body predator-still. Sung chose to close his own eye in response as he stretched his legs out, his arms following, deciding to not let it bother him. 

“Germick’s keen on hitting up Area 51.” Sung explained after he had rolled his neck around. "Talked about it last night a little."

“Well isn’t that nice?” Meouch’s tail snapped again and Sung’s patience with it. “But that doesn't answer my question.”

“He wanted to go with _all_ of us, actually.” Sung corrected him not even a second later, letting Meouch know that yes, he was also worked up. “The idea was to make it into one big fun group activity, but we had a feeling you and Havve would be against it. Hence,” he offered the other a thin smile. “The bribery you're so curious about.”

Meouch inhaled for four seconds, held it for seven, and released it on eight. There was still a gleam in his eyes though as he went through the calming motions before leaning forward and into Sung’s space. “I’ll give you both an ‘A’ for the effort, but my answer’s still the same.” The other alien told him. Decisive, derisive, implacable. Both the rock and the hard place. "You're in Vegas, you can find something else."

Why, why, why the fuck? What exactly was the point of being twenty five and a half years old? In being seven point seven sidereal turnings? In being a thing of song and starlight and self made gravity when people- his _friends_ \- were still going to keep treating him like a kid? “What’s got you and Hogan so up in arms?” Sung hissed as he sat himself up on the bed, not caring that his hair was a mess and that his shirt was nowhere to be found. “Give me that, at least, if you’re gonna be this damn insistent.”

He got up on the other side of the bed and went to look for said t-shirt, temper rising when a raging silence followed. Meouch had always been the hardest to get a read on, going from their younger years of violent mood swings to being a real _tabula rasa_ son of a bitch. But there was something wild in his eyes that hadn’t been there the night before. An echo of the past. A shadow self. Just what the hell had happened? Why hadn’t Phobos told him when he slipped into bed? “It’s a joke! A meme! We all saw those news reports from last year and we were _laughing_ about it!” Sung offered, trying to lighten the mood somehow.

But Meouch wasn’t having it or taking it at all. “Fine! You want the truth, well, here’s the truth then.” The Leoian growled. “‘Storm Area 51’ was a bunch of _humans_ , Sung. Not a single one of them was an alien. And in case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got four in our group alone, not to mention Hogan-”

The empath’s mouth rounded itself out into the perfect little ‘o’ shape, his body half bent, frozen in a state of disbelief. “You _cannot_ be fucking serious.” 

“Surprise! I am!"

Sung wheezed. Slapped his hand against his knee and wheezed _again,_ just like Dylan had. “This is _Earth_ we’re talking about!” He was in gods damn hysterics now. “The most mundane place out of everything ever in any galaxy!” This is where science fiction was no more than fiction. Where magic was made for books and tarot and poetry. They came here _because_ of the normalcy. Because the time they spent on Earth was a time where they were momentarily finite- bound to just their skin and bones, nothing else expected of them but their music and positivity. 

“Gods, Meouch, that’s like your whole shtick. You hate the weird space mumbo-jumbo bullshit and now you believe in it?! Besides!” Sung rounded the corner of the bed, his breath catching up to him at long last. “Excluding Havve, we all now have the means to look completely human, and the only reason he doesn’t is because he’s never wanted it!”

Nostrils flaring, Meouch stared down his nose at him. “...Are you quite finished?”

“Not even! It’s not like they’re going to scan us at the gate and go ‘oh boy, don’t know how we missed _those_ aliens, round ‘em up gang!’” What nightmare-fuel fantasy were Meouch and Havve living inside of? This was the most surreal thing he had ever heard, and he had heard a lot of crazy things. “It’s one hour north of us, that’s practically nothing-!”

“It could be right next door and I still wouldn’t give a shit, okay?!”

He stormed out and Sung had no choice but to chase after him, nearly expecting him to flat out leave. But no. Instead, Meouch went about swiping one of their complimentary waters before throwing himself onto the couch, his long body angling sideways. “This is my suite today, and if you’re not going to watch a movie with me, I suggest fucking off.” He turned the TV on. “Immediately.”

But Sung didn’t do either of those things.

He planted himself in front of the TV instead, knowing full well he didn’t even come close to covering anything. “If Yevon were here.” He said the words slowly, carefully, with a pointed weight and cadence. “You wouldn’t be pulling this bullshit.”

Meouch was on Sung in an instant, every inch of fur bristling in defiance, snarling violently. “ _You do not!_ ” He began to roar as he grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “ _Get to bring my girlfriend into this!!!_ ”

“ _You’re just pissed because I’m right!!!_ ” Sung screamed right back. _This_ was where he broke. This is where he plunged off the deep end. Where he let the last of his frustrations loose and actually did something about how he felt. “Because if she asked, you’d be ecstatic to take her and all of us! Consequences be damned!”

“That’s the thing though, Sung, she’d never _want to!_ She’s smarter than that!!!”

“So call her!" The empath demanded. "Ask her! I’d _love_ to hear what she has to say!”

“I am not...” Meouch pulled him that much higher before giving him a threatening shake, his lips pulling back to show all of his teeth. “...Calling Yevon to satisfy your hypothetical, you fucking piece of shit.”

Sung held his hands up as Meouch kept him dangling there. “Fine, don’t then. But if you’re going to be this much of an asshole about everything, well, good luck telling Rich!”

“...Telling me what, exactly…?”

Oh, son of a bitch.

Of _course_ Rich had to walk in right at the tail end of things, all guilelessness and wide eyes and innocence. The girl at the front desk had been right, Sung couldn’t help but think hysterically as their gazes locked, this room really _was_ soundproof. That didn’t matter though. No. That paled in comparison to the way his throat worked, how Rich faltered and seemed to draw inwards.

Man turning upon man, Rich had told him, friend turning upon friend. 

A civil war that had no visible end.

And him in the middle of it, endlessly deathless, unable to stop anything, completely helpless.

This Earth wasn’t perfect. They all knew that. But they had still told him that there was goodness. Greatness, even. And that he always could trust them. And now here they were. Not just innocently arguing, actually fighting over the stupidest gods damn thing…

“It’s a surprise!” Meouch said at the same exact moment Sung blurted “that we love you!”, before they looked at each other in incredulity.

“Bravo." Rich gave them a single clap of pity. "You both _really_ convinced me.”

But there, right there, was a hidden smile in his eyes; his relief palpable, his tensions melting away. Without any kind of warning, Meouch set Sung down, not saying a single thing as he retreated back to the couch and drew his legs up silently. Now what? The moment seemed to ask as Meouch turned his face away. Do you drop it? Do you ignore everything that's happening?

“So!” Sung said too loudly and too eagerly, even for him. “Richard, my man, how’s _your_ morning been?”

The relief the empath had been feeling before shifted straight into pure joy and fizzing energy, perking him right up. “I woke up real early to head up to the Red Rock Canyons today. Took my first Uber and everything!” He whispered gleefully, pushing his hat onto his back before he traipsed to the suite's little kitchen. “And when I got there, I rented a bike, and the whole place was just…” He flourished his hands jazzily before grabbing some OJ. “The road and the rocks and the skyline. It got so many pictures. It was friggin' great."

Sung started forward with an eager, wanting sound but Rich apparently wasn’t done. “Speaking of _pictures_ , you sure took a lot last night, buddy.” Did he? When? The Carnaval. Oh no. Oh jeeze... “Ten voice mails, thirty-two new snaps, _fifty!_ Yes, you heard me, fifty text messages-” 

Sung began groaning. “You’re _kidding_ me.” 

“Nope! And…” He held his phone out. “Whatever the hell this is.”

Underneath all the gibberish and keysmash was a picture of a man in a military suit, balding and stern looking, sitting on a throne of leaves. “Oh gods.” Sung covered his face. “This is so friggin’ niche. Fucking end me.”

Rich took the seat across from Meouch, who was still pointedly ignoring them in favor of some movie. “Do I even want to know?”

“It’s Major Garland Briggs.” At Rich’s blank look Sung felt his last leg of hope give out. “The idea was maybe you had seen Twin Peaks, and that you would get the reference.” Summer had seen it! And so had he! “I can promise you, last night, it made _total_ sense.”

Rich snorted into his cup. “I'll momentarily suspend my disbelief.”

‘Let’s pull a Major Briggs’, what had he been _thinking_ ? No, he _knew_ what he had been thinking, he just also didn’t want to spoil it. “Okay, so add it to your watch list immediately, first off. But second off, and to make a very long story short, Briggs is a character that works for the United States Airforce, and well, the USAF runs Area 51.”

There, the truth was out and nothing else could be done. Now he had to run with it. “We were just thinking of going there. Maybe.” His eye glanced towards Meouch, anxious that he might set the Leoian off again. “Probably not. It’s all very up in the air, so who actually knows! Not me!!!” He tried laughing but he couldn’t find the air to manage it. “That’s for sure, buddy!”

There was a knowing look on the other-Earthen’s face as he glanced between the two of them. “So _that’s_ what you were fighting about.” He made it sound so simple when he said it that way. Like Sung hadn’t been losing his mind because he felt disrespected, and not listened to, and definitely not trusted. But Meouch and Havve didn’t understand-

Oh fuck, Sung felt his core dim and blink, Havve.

He had forgotten about Havve.

He remembered the push then. The cut. The silence that had reigned until the party had drowned it out.

Havve didn’t have any of those things in the tour bus.

Havve didn’t have _anyone._

Sung reached _out_ \- all while Rich was saying that of course he’d love to go and of course he had heard stories, but none of that mattered if anyone was upset about anything in particular and that he didn’t want to push the envelope; only to cut himself off mid-sentence. Touching Sung’s forehead, shoulder, pulse. “Hey.” He asked in a nervous voice. “Are you not feeling well?”

“Maybe he needs to eat.” Meouch didn’t actually sound _that_ sarcastic when he suggested it, but Sung was too busy counting the hours-minutes-seconds-things that fell _between_ those time frames, to even bother trying to reply at all. “Sung, buddy.” He shifted his body and sat up, his concern becoming real. “Use your words. Talk.”

Talk? He couldn't talk. He couldn't do anything at all. “I gotta go.” He choked out.

“Woah, hey, no!” Rich said, Meouch said, both?

Sung bolted instead, not a single thought in his head until he literally hit the door. Wait, no, he couldn’t do this. Not like this. Not right now. For fuck’s sake, he was a cyclops in pajamas running to the bus he didn’t even have the keys for. “I gotta go check on Havve.” He explained in a great big rush before running to his bedroom to pull some actual clothes on.

“Do you want me to-” Rich started offering on the other side only for Meouch to say something soft and hushed. Explaining it. Warning him away. Rich spoke again after it, his voice much more careful and full of knowing. “I’m sure it’ll be alright, Sung.” He told him encouragingly.

Yes. Will be. Would be. That much was a promise. He pulled on a black t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans before slapping his visor on. Keys, wallet, phone. He was good to fucking leave. “I’ll text you, I promise, don’t worry about it.” He told them before throwing himself into the hallway. 

Today was the worst kind day possible, and it had barely even begun.

-

He was at least smart enough to remember that e-scooters were a thing before he ran all the way to the RV Parking Lot. He was not smart enough, however, to remember that Nevada got stupid hot and here he was panicking and wearing all gods damned black under the ninety-eight degree sun.

Sung got there sooner than he expected, or maybe right when he needed to be. He hadn’t had a single thought in his head the entire way, too wound up and wary, this close to shattering. Open the door, nobody’s watching, you’re in the back, nobody’s _watching_ you, it’s a door, he’s your friend, _nobody’s fucking watching you, Sung_ -!

But Sung just _stood_ there though instead; hands slick and core aching- caught up in the severed link’s roaring as it finally caught up to him again. It was, as it had always been, a greedy, gulping thing- made of gnashing teeth and loneliness and long forgotten memories. Open the door, he forced his hand forward, keys trembling, breathing rough and labored. Stop stalling. Stop freaking. Do something.

But the door swung open of it's own accord without any kind of warning before he could unlock it, revealing him.

Havve stood there in the half-dark, painfully unfamiliar to him. This was all his fault, a spur of the moment decision now staring down at him with inhuman consequence. Sung couldn’t even try and get a read on his body language, too reliant on the things Havve pressed and sighed across the invisible space they shared. Right now, he looked like how everybody else saw him. A ghost, somatic violence, a reaper bound by steel. Too still and too quiet, like echoes taken by the wind.

“Havve.” He whispered, and then again, into that pitch black gloaming that stretched out before them. _Havve, I’m here Havve._

Recognition flashed and he softened somehow, their link reaching out and blooming again. _Took you long enough._ The robot said after a subtle probing on both their ends, trying to sound casual. It was too shaky though to call it that though. Too gods damn volatile.

Sung swallowed, his own voice scraped raw and made weak and hung low. _Why didn’t you call?_ Why didn’t you _remind_ me, is what he really meant, but that was wrong and selfish and he wasn’t looking to make things worse. Gods. It had been so easy the night before in the heat of the moment, but now, in the present, he was forced to come face to face with the fallout. _You_ call _if we can’t communicate through the link._ They had learned those lessons at the hands of much higher stakes. _When you can feel yourself slipping, when you-_ He faltered.

When you feel yourself break.

 _I was angry, Sung._ He cut the empath off with a dry laugh before he gave a sharp shrug. _I thought I could get through it and prove something. I thought I didn’t need you or anyone._

The last part got tacked on at the last second, self depreciating and aimed at his own being.

 _...Idiot…_ Sung shook his head after realizing it, his core aching from all the hurt.

It wasn’t exactly appropriate to say ‘it could be worse’ given the circumstances, but that’s exactly what came to mind when Sung climbed the stairs of the tour bus and peered inwards. Everything was still in one piece, but… there were sheets of paper everywhere. The beds, the floors, the couch, the kitchenette area- each and every one slashed through with heavy handed, agonized lines of red and black ink. Macabre rorschachs of what the night had held for him.

He was all guilt when he looked at them, Havve all embarrassment- which is why neither of them moved or said anything for quite some time, the bus settling in the silence they shared.

 _I’m sorry!_ They both finally gasped, abruptly and all at once, neither of them expecting it. Like with Meouch, but _different_ , both of them ending up on the same page on accident. Havve laughed first and then Sung second before they knew it they had both laid themselves onto the floor because it seemed like the best place to talk. _Why are you sorry? You’re never sorry._ Sung finally teased.

_Because I’ve been an asshole._

_Psh! You’re_ never _an asshole!_

_Sung._

He blinked as a bead of sweat dripped across his jawline, knowing full well what that tone of voice meant.

_Please._

He closed his human eyes and nodded. _Go on, then._

It still took a little bit. Havve shifting and adjusting, the papers rustling underneath. _...I’ve had this growing worry,_ the other finally started, the steady thrum of his 808 filling the hollow bus. _Ever since we took Rich in that I’ve been needing to talk about._

Sung bit down on his tongue. He owed it to Havve to keep his mouth shut. To not what he did with Meouch and actually try listening to him. Had Meouch known? Of course, of course. _I don’t have a problem with Rich, that’s not what I’m getting at. It’s not anything that anyone can fault him for but he… he shouldn't have come with._ He lurched onto his side and every joint creaked with the effort. _He’s a man on the run, a fugitive from another universe._

 _He’s our friend._ Sung whispered in a fiercely small voice, unable to help himself. He deserved this. Out of anyone ever, he deserved everything in the world.

_I’m not saying he isn’t, but he’s also a liability, and we are all now indelibly linked._

_You could say the same of Phobos or me._ Sung tried to swallow the sudden threat of tears back. The itch was there though. The knot in his throat making it hard to breathe. _We’re both endlings. The last of our kind. We share almost the same exact stakes-_

 _And that’s why I get so mad!_ Havve insisted. _Because you clearly know that! You’re not stupid! But you keep trying to push our damn boundaries! Telling yourself you can get away with things and slip under the radar, like people aren't watching what we do and what we say._ He could feel Havve’s frame shuddering through the floor, or maybe it was his own spine shaking. They were a perfect seam again, two halves made whole, as they were always meant to be.

 _One day it's going to catch up to you, to all of us, and I won't be able to do anything about it. Or I will._ Havve laughed humorlessly before his words became a horrible mourning. _And it will be a blood bath. A war. And the last thing I want is for any of you to have to act like I had the right, or to lie and say it was necessary, Sung._

He closed his eyes again. Once upon a time, Havve had been a much different being. Blood hungry- a perfect mix of hate and hurt and agony. But then he had learned that he had a voice, a means to use his hands for something that _wasn't_ violence, a different way of living in this world. Sung had been there for all of Havve's seesaw moments, had seen the way he had leaned all-too-easily into the brutalism as well as the way he ran away from it. But he was better now. He had learned how to balance it. How to take control.

But even now, after centuries and centuries of being together, it seemed those fears still liked and managed to make themselves known.

Sung turned his way, the light of his core casting the other's outline in a sharp relief. “Havve. I made you with the sole purpose of holding endless miseries, and when that failed, I made you hold onto _my_ memories when I couldn’t bear them.” He exhaled against the other’s shoulder blades. “I’m not blameless. Not one little bit."

 _You were a child._ Havve, in turn, all but staggered through his words. _Who’s entire planet was fading away into nothing. And if not for you, for that, then I wouldn’t have…_

He paused before covering his faceplate with a dry snort of amusement. _Ah, now I see what you’re getting at. Touche._

Sung couldn't help but smile to himself in the darkness, glad Havve was finally using his brain. That was the robot he knew and loved. His common sense made physical and then some. “Shit happens, man, we just gotta roll with it. Oh!” He gasped and jumped. “That’s _totally_ new song territory. Remember that for me, Havve!"

_Sung._

“...Yes?”

 _Are you_ seriously _considering_ _taking my existential crisis and turning it into a song?_

“...Maaaaybeeee…” He drew the word out nice and slowly. “But c’mon buddy, we all have bad days! You don't even wanna know what happened before I got here. I think something's up with Meouch. He's super pissed off."

_Oh, Sung..._

"Don't 'oh, Sung', me!" They both sat up at the same time and looked at one another. "Not my fault he's having girlfriend problems."

_Is he really?_

_Maybe. Probably. Something's up, but you know him..._ -

 _He never, ever talks. Never wants to share._ Havve finished the sentence for him with a knowing sound of annoyance. _...Well, howabout we make it a good day?_ He said then in a quiet voice, his gaze glancing away to paint the bus vermillion. _It's not too late_ _, and Dylan or Summer can get him to talk about it, maybe. I'm not dealing with petty relationship drama for the rest of this damn trip..._

Sung began to vibrate. Literally. Unable to help himself as he tuned the rest out. “DOES THAT MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?!” He blurted excitedly.

 _Start screaming and I’ll take it back!_ Havve shoved a finger in his face. _And I swear to every god that has ever been and ever will be, if you do anything stupid-_

He didn’t let the other finish, throwing himself onto all the other man's gloriously sharp and pointy bits with reckless abandon. “Thank you.” He spoke against the soft spot where Havve’s neck met his shoulder. _For listening,_ he added, _and explaining, and being patient._

 _And you thought I needed an anti-rudeness chip!_ He mussed Sung’s hair playfully until the empath pushed his hand away. _For real, you’re welcome. Now go on and get everybody gathered up._ He sighed and shook his head at himself, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was about to say. _We're going on a group field trip to Area 51._

*

"Wow! Would you look at that? It's just like being on Mojave! Say, Phanny, have you ever been? Kes, I know you have!"

"Does he _always_ talk this much?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

They were on Earth and xe still reeling. The Phantasm had been on planets made of endless glass and flame, icy nomadic deserts, underwater kingdoms, places of endless night and weeping- but none of them even came close to having this specific energy. The strange distinction that the place had. "It feels like we're stuck in a photograph." Kestrel said, seeming to read xir mind. "Or we're trapped in amber, looking out from the inside."

The Avis girl had her voluminous hair braided upon her head like a crown, eyes set on the horizon and robes billowing on the wind. The Phantasm had never seen someone look so gods damned effortlessly beautiful and xe desperately wanted to tell her that. But there was the mission to think about. The fact that they were on business...

Besides, xe was bound to fuck it up anyhow.

“You know what I’m saying?” Kestrel turned then, everything on her face bright and expectant.

"Absolutely." The Phantasm flubbed as xe was put on the spot. "I totally get where you're coming from."

Vaguely, that was.

Yevgeny came bounding up to them, looking suspiciously jubilant given, well, everything. The damned idiot also had some weird, dark glasses perched on the end of his snout. He pulled two other pairs out when he caught xir staring. "I stole this from the gas station over yonder!" He announced, too happily for his own good. "They're now part of the uniform. It's required you wear these if you're going to be part of this squad."

Kestrel smirked and the Phantasm groaned resentfully. "You're paying her to be here, Yevgeny." Xe said. You, not we, that was the part with the most emphasis. No matter how pretty or valuable of an asset Kestrel was, this wasn't how Federation Agents did their jobs. They didn't ask for assistance. They didn't hire help. They didn't waste months upon months searching for a single man while their superiors looked down on them and threatened to fire them. "Also, I never agreed to this." They would make the jewel embedded in xir forehead look even bigger than it was; so xe would stick to just xir pressed suits and high heels and xir favorite crystal studs. "Go and put them back."

Six hours. It had been six hours since they had found TWRP's tourbus. Six hours since they had made sense of their stupid plan. Three days since they had landed. Three days since Kestrel had begun hunting them. She was relentless, a harpy in every and all forms, flying through the skies at all hours while xe and Yevgeny waited for her coordinates comms. "It's very simple." She had told the Phantasm the second day. "You start by finding where they performed, then you dig into their security. If they don't have any cameras or people to interrogate, then somewhere nearby does. Hotels, gas stations, restaurants. Everything here is so easy to access. They're happy to hand it over for the right amount, or to any kind of authority."

Which is where xe came in. Xir and xir _power_. The very thing that had given the Phantasm xir namesake.

"But think about it. It would be really, really cool if we were all wearing them when they arrive. Can you imagine the three of us!?" He shook them again, his tail bobbing eagerly. "Stop right there, Groove Crusaders, you're under arrest. Hand over the immortal Space Cowboy and put your hands up, stat!"

"Since when have you been into doing your job correctly?" Xe hissed in a pissy tone.

His smile went lopsided and his ears flicked playfully. "Since we started getting actual results, honestly. All thanks to Miss Kestrel!"

The best and most wonderful thing about Kestrel was that she, unlike Yevgeny, wasn't too proud. She didn't act with vainglory. She wasn't self-important at all. Instead gave the Vulpini alien an almost pitying look before she shook her wings out and pulled her athame out. "It's all part of the job." She told him all seriousness, which the Phantasm _had_ to admire her for. "I know I said it's been easy, but I'm also _thankful_ for that fact. This planet is huge. I could only imagine if they weren't touring..." Her features became distant. "Like Star Trotter all over again."

The other rogue Avis in Mojave. The one who had never returned...

Xe went to change the subject, hating the way Kestrel looked when she frowned. "I'm just ready to get this over with." Xe truly meant it because then xe could go home. They would probably try and offer xir a promotion after they had bagged TWRP _and_ Aucoin, but the Phantasm would politely turn them down. I would rather retire, if you would let me, with a pension to take care of my family for the rest of our lives and then some. How many times had xe recited those exact lines in the mirror over and over again? This would be it. This would be xir long awaited moment of victory-

"They're coming." Kestrel spoke quietly, pointing towards the rising clouds of dust and the setting sun. 

Xir features knifed themselves into something eager and bloodthirsty. "They're _dead_." 


End file.
